I’ve always been better at

biting my tongue until it bleeds.

Silence with burning,

until a warning heeds,

“Anger is of the worse seeds.”

I frustrate better in silence,

but I hide better in conversation.

My tears are multiplying,

but my joy is in deprivation.

Almost like it’s in hibernation.

They say forgiveness is a virtue,

but I’d rather keep my anger.

I can say: how better is who

doesn’t stir on the exterior

but on the inside, plans a murder.