I spent so much time
being understanding.
Giving chances.
Making excuses.
Carrying things
that were never mine.
Until one day
I realized:
My anger wasn’t ugly.
It was a voice.
It was the part of me
that finally said,
“Enough.”
A poetry library for the things that bruise us, the things that bloom anyway, and everything we become in between.
I spent so much time
being understanding.
Giving chances.
Making excuses.
Carrying things
that were never mine.
Until one day
I realized:
My anger wasn’t ugly.
It was a voice.
It was the part of me
that finally said,
“Enough.”
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