Forgive Her, She Knows Not What She Does
You are anger now and have
become anger through anger.
The tight-lipped woman blowing
smoke into my lungs
and soul. It’s foggy now
and sits silently inside me.
You are what I hate and what
I love, a cloud that hints at rain
but never does, a woman with
two mouths and two hearts
to match them, growing
always growing, a small tree
inside me where leaves fall.
Seasons change dear, but the tree’s
still there and so to the anger
quiet as a virgin bullet, I cannot
chop it down myself before
it pushes out and through
eyes, a nose, and a branch splits
the tongue and there’s a knot
growing into a hard heart. You
are the axe, the down swing, the
feeling of letting go, the burning
fire that ate up the anger
in the night.
poem by Ben Paynter
Added by Poetry Lover
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