• Flux Magazine

"I Don't Like Her When She's Angry" by Halle Dana

My clenched jaw shows in my smile. Bite tight, My teeth become fused. I taste my own bitterness: Soot black on the tongue, Grains of anger in my teeth, crunching Like sand.

Dark words, swirling through my belly, Slipping between my lips. Once past, they move quickly: No butterfly net to catch these, These rocks, stick, and arrows That poured out of me. If I remain jagged, please tumble me further; Sift through the earth that I am, Shake loose all my dirt and debris.

Resentment grows like crabgrass. Even unfed, negativity takes root. Like Demeter searching for her daughter, I scan over the ground, Plucking each vengeful thought out before It bears fruit. And I’ll never have none, It will never be bare, But the slick mold that once overran this place Won’t ever make home here again.


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