now, i am cruel to value my own future so highly.

now, i am selfish to do what i need to in order

to be happy and achieve my dreams.

your love was always conditional,

you spat at me when it was over.

and yours was not?

—hypocrisy

the rage in me is a tempest.

it slams itself against my rib cage,

strains against my skull.

some mornings i wake up

and i am so angry

i can feel it radiating

underneath my skin,

gathering in the tips of my fingers.

one time he left me

in the middle of the night

because i wouldn’t have sex

with him, and i forgave him

because that’s what you do

when you’ve loved somebody

for that long.

three days after we broke up

for the first time, he tried to fuck

one of my friends, and i forgave him

because that’s what you do

when you are trying to fix a mess

you had a part in making.

he told me when we broke up

for real that his friends

thought i was a crazy feminist,

and i didn’t forgive him for that

but i did laugh. i did smile

and shake it off because even though

i was free, i was still in love with him

and that’s what you do.

you forgive, or ignore, or try to understand,

and you tuck the anger away.

and the storm brews until eventually

you’re far enough away from the shelter

you built to protect yourself from hard truths

that you can finally feel the rain.

the rage in me is a tempest,

and i forgive him for it because

i gave him a storm too.

and maybe it’s bigger than mine

but for all the wrong reasons.

maybe he won’t ever forgive me.

and maybe there’s a small part of me

that’s afraid of being left at 4 a.m.

because she said she was too tired.

when she rears her head,

it is a downpour.

don’t spend your time

with those who

tread on you.

you

are nobody’s

doormat.

you don’t exist

for others

to wipe their feet upon.

—you are worth more

there’s nothing

quite like a woman’s rage:

the anger that comes

with being grabbed

and tossed around

against our will,

the fury that accompanies

condescending smiles

and unapologetic interruptions.

it’s an anger

that sits for years.

it simmers quietly

until one day,

it begins to boil

right over the top

of our patience.

so go on—

take our rights,

and see our anger.

hold us down,

and face our fury.

touch us again

and b r e a k

under the wrath

we have held in

for centuries.

and if you’re not afraid?

well,

you should be.

stop waiting for them

to apologize for hurting you.

you will waste time

you should be spending

healing and growing,

on words that will often

be empty or underwhelming.

just know that,

in one way or another,

they will be sorry.

when they see you happy,