third of august
shit hit a fan
in my head, in my heart
and poetry
started to spout
out of every thought i had
and every word i heard –
my anger
no longer dormant
demanded it
be given word –

one month collection –
unexpected expected –
built-up anger, confusion, hurt = pain –
pain = poetry –

it was always that way,
i was simply not expecting it
right now, in this particular way –

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