Anger in a Group Setting
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My stomach clenches
at the sight of her pursed lips,
the lines bracketing
a mouth drooping low.
Her whispery voice
with its false note of joy
rasps the bones in my ears
like dull saws scraping
wet wood. She steals time-
my time, your time-
spins a thread a spider would envy.
I fear the part I abhor
is the thing I recognize,
spend my energy
stilling my tongue.
Curación Citable - Cita del día
For me, singing sad songs often has a way of healing a situation. It gets the hurt out in the open into the light, out of the darkness.