Don’t Tell Me I Am Angry
tell me why you are not
Don’t tell me I am angry.
Tell me why you are not.
Tell me how you stand in this wreckage
with clean hands.
Tell me how you walk through
a world built on bones
and never raise your voice.
Tell me how you watch it happen —
the slow violence,
the quiet taking,
the grinding down of people like me —
and sleep like nothing is burning
under your roof.
Don’t tell me I am angry.
Tell me how you are not
when everything they promised us
was a lie
or a leash.
I didn’t wake up wanting war.
I woke up inside it.
I didn’t choose this mouth
to spit fire.
I was given this throat
because nobody heard me
when I whispered.
Don’t tell me I am angry
like it’s a problem
to solve.
Tell me why you built a world
that needed me
to be this loud.
Tell me why you are not angry.
When you see
what I see.
When you know
what I know.
When you live
where I live.
Don’t tell me I am angry.
Tell me why you are not.
Excellent piece, thanks for sharing