Don't ask me how I feel;
I feel loud.
I want to hear loud sounds,
And I want to scream
At the top of my lungs.
I want to run back and forth
And throw punches at the wall.
I want the music to have bass,
Enough to clear the shelves.
I want the room to shake
Under the pressure of the noise,
And I want to scream
Until it crumbles down.
I want the carpet to roll up
And expose the dirt under it.
I want you to see the dirt
Hidden underneath my skin.
I want it to make you scream.
You should feel what I do,
Feel what's inside of me.
You should feel the frustration
Of wanting the world to be loud.
I want the bass to knock you
Off of your feet.
I want you to crawl away
As I throw punches at the wall,
Fearing the next punch
Will smash your skull.
I want you to hold on
While I scream out my throat
Until the room crumbles down.
I want you to feel this,
I need you to experience
What it's like to have rage.
Have you ever felt pure rage?
It's loud, my friend;
Very, very loud.
Author notes
Written September 11th, 2003
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When I asked for anger poems, this wasn't really what I had in mind... but stuff what I had in mind - I love this! I love the way that you've described anger, like "I feel loud,"... and - yeah - I just love the way you've written it. You have SUCH a way with words. I love the way that the tension builds up... it's really powerful. I could go on like this for a while - but I won't. I'll just say, this poem is also in my final 35. Congratulations again. The odds for you have just increased - hope that makes up for the wait a bit. Good luck... and I'll get back to you...
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It seems to me there is a lot of that around, has been a lot of it around for many years, for my ears are ringing with it, filtering what I still hope to hear.
I have known what peace is, peace in Nature, where the whole person relaxes, body, mind, emotions, all. I have been blessed to know inner peace that forgives all, and finds what beauty is, without needing to search for it.
While understand too well how it is to be so angry that blood pressure bounces off the ceiling and adrenalin flings things--BEEN there for an extended time (decades)-- still it need not be forever.
Edited on Dec 18, 10:10 p.m. because 'typo'. -
hmm cool poem
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