Becoming the Monster
The quiet ways unhealed pain reshapes the self — a poem
I think I might be bitter
The acrid taste on my tongue says so
My lips have kissed
The bile of your words
And no matter what I take in
The taste never leaves
It settles on my palate
An ulcer festers
With every word I’m taking in
It tangles in my chest
Rooting itself
In a pain that never leaves
Rage simmers on the edge
Craving to spill over
And drown everything I hold dear
The ache consumes me
Donning a mask of anger
And turning me into a monster
Now the wronged one
Is the berserker
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Reflection:
Do you feel it sometimes? That anger, that resentment, the way it consumes you? It seems to chip away at the best parts of you with every taunt, every vile word thrown your way. All the situations beyond your control. It can feel justified. Sometimes it is.
But how do we keep it from consuming us? How do we grieve the harm without becoming the very people we resent?
Journaling Prompt:
Who are you beneath the pain?
beneath the anger and resentment
that tear you up and hold you down?