orange tendrils
unfurl from
my wronged belly,
coiling
spirals
that undulate
below
the surface
of my pale skin.
It doesn't ever
matter that
my own flesh
is burned,
or that the
conflagration
turns everything
to ashes.
I become incandescent
with rage.
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The burning, the pain, the rage ... You captured it so well
ReplyDeleteLove it, Tina! I mean, if you're gonna have a temper tantrum, why bother with anything less than incandescence?
ReplyDeleteIt sounds so poetic and almost lovely within your words. I keep seeing my son's face and know I get scared when I see it coming. ;)
ReplyDeleteBut your words are simply perfect to describe it.
The last line does it for me :).
ReplyDeleteSuch emotion! You took me there. Love the "wronged belly." Good writing, Tina!
ReplyDeleteI have been consumed with rage like that before...you have captured it really well!
ReplyDeleteA consuming fire, rage, captured. Well done!
ReplyDeleteI loved reading your 'about me' section. It is so touchy..I felt like that while you wrote it, you pulled up the pieces together and formed the whole of yourself...
ReplyDeleteNo, it never matters at the moment if you burn up and turn to ashes. That is rage. I know it. You captured it very poetically.
ReplyDeleteI love the way you spaced this out, slowly building tension and passion and fire word by word. And "incandescent with rage"! I really like that. Maybe because it's all too familiar. I used to be quite fiery!
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