The Anger I Called Inconvenient
They never wanted my anger. Only my quiet mouth and my yes soft enough to keep the room clean. Here’s what that silence turned into under my ribs.
They liked my silence
more than my truth.
Clapped when I kept the house calm,
never asked what it cost
to bite down on my own roar
until my gums
bled forgiveness.
They called me patient.
Called me good.
Never questioned
why my calm
smelled like smoke.
I wasn’t patient.
I was afraid
that if they heard me growl,
they’d leave.
So I dressed rage in apologies,
hid it behind laughter
that tasted like metal.
Turned no into sorry,
anger into stillness,
my ribs into a cage
strong enough to hold
a beast
they never wanted to meet.
They said: don’t raise your voice.
They meant:
don’t remind us you hurt too.
So I kept it quiet—
a growl scratching my chest raw
every time
I swallowed it.
They loved me calm.
Smooth.
Safe.
Something to skip stones across
without ever sinking.
But quiet isn’t safe.
And calm isn’t harmless.
What they praised as holy
was just a muzzle
I hammered in place
myself.
I buried the beast so deep,
even my parents
mistook the silence
for grace.
But I’m not holy.
I’m just tired.
Tired of apologizing
for the thing that kept me alive
when silence almost didn’t.
I was never made
to carry their storms
and drown my own thunder.
If they hear me growl now—
good.
Better they flinch
than watch me
die polite,
one swallowed scream
at a time.
You’re not a subscriber,
you’re a co-conspirator.
This is a room where silence loses every time we open our teeth together.
Stay. Bring your confession.
Bring your version too loud for polite company.
Here, your rage is holy.
Your softness is armed.
Your boundaries are not up for polite debate.
Every poem you read here is a rib torn loose, a page refusing to stay dead.
Soon they’ll bind themselves into a living thing called Shadow Thoughts: The Silence That Kept Me.
Not tidy self-help but a mirror that won’t flinch when you do.
I don’t know when it’ll wear a spine and a barcode.
I don’t care.
It’s alive now.
Feral. Soft. Dripping on your screen whether you’re ready or not.
Stay loud enough to make the polite ones flinch.
Stay honest enough to scare the hush that raised you.
Stay. We’re louder together.
P.S.
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