Anger

I remember,

getting angry,

at the littlest things,

giving power

to whatever I let

pull my strings.

Whether it was people

or situations,

whatever I thought was

causing me aggravations.

I would react

like some marionette

and even more dark attract,

to my shadowed silhouette.

But it was never

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any of those circumstances,

nor was it any other person.

It was me all along,

and it would only worsen

when I sang the dreaded

victim song.

The source

of my freedom

and of my discontent,

was knowing,

that no matter what it is,

only I can prevent,

and I must take,

credit and blame,

for everything I name.

For that which I feel and see,

is my experience,

out picturing from me.