This poem is part of a series I have been writing about the legacy left behind after trauma, particularly sexual trauma.  If this resonates with you, I suggest also reading Flashback, The Name They Call Her, Shame, Further Musings on Shame, and What Every Woman Knows.

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Strong emotion

Was not viewed favorably

When I was growing up.

It was always

Made clear to me

That I was:

Too loud

Too excitable

Too opinionated.

Too me,

I always thought.

 

I was always told

Not to be angry

About this

Or that

Or that other thing.

The list of things

That was acceptable

To be angry about

Was a very

Short list.

 

I internalized

From a very young age

That my anger, my rage

Was a fearsome thing

That should be contained

At all times.

When it erupted in my adolescence

As anger often does

I was reminded again

That it was to be subdued

Back into its cage

And kept under

Strict lock and key.

 

It is no surprise

That I entered adulthood

Believing that my rage

Should I ever allow it

To be fully unleashed

Would have the power

The suppressed energy

To level mountains

Boil the seas

Pull the earth

Out of its gravitational orbit

Destroy life as we know it

Some days

I still believe that.