Hate and Rage
The Borderlines of Love Poem Book
They told me hate was wrong.
That rage made you ugly.
That good people keep their voices quiet
and their tempers holstered.
But what they don’t tell you
is that hate is just love
after it’s been set on fire.
That rage is the heartbeat
of someone who tried to forgive too soon.
I have hated in whispers
in polite smiles,
in the ache of my jaw when I say,
I’m fine, really.
I have hated so quietly
it sounded like prayer.
Rage is louder.
It cracks bones made of silence.
It tears the wallpaper off your memories
and demands the truth beneath it.
No, it isn’t graceful.
It doesn’t have manners.
It shows up barefoot, bleeding,
and still somehow says.
You will not take another piece of me.
Hate sharpens; rage burns clean.
Together they forge a place
where your heart can stand again,
not kind, not soft;
but still beating.
And when the fire dies down,
when the air smells like iron and mercy,
you’ll see it:
what survived.
Not the pain.
Not the person who caused it.
You.
Still here.
Still angry.
Still holy.