‘If Rage Alone Could Fix’.

I wrote yet another poetic prose about some of our darker instincts. Sometimes, we all end up lashing out and we say things that we don’t mean. Sometimes, it is the same anger that gets things done for us. If you were to ask me whether our anger was good or bad, I wouldn’t be able to tell you because I have no answer for it. What I do have instead is this very personal piece that I wrote upon noticing how quickly my work got done after I gave certain people a piece of my mind. Sometimes, no matter how much you want to take the high road, you’re backed into a corner, and this was one of those times for me. I do not regret lashing out today.

This piece is definitely about that kind of rage, but it is also about so much more. I hope you enjoy reading it! Xx


“If rage alone could fix, I’d tell myself to burn a hundred kingdoms down. I’d tell myself to let it all out. But the only one who ever hurt from my rage was me, it was never the one I wanted it to be.

Such an ugly thought it is to have!

If rage alone could fix, I’d spend my nights blissfully asleep, knowing I had done what I sought to achieve. I’d tell myself to breathe. But how am I supposed to feel, now that I know that my rage could fix things for me? It doesn’t feel as happy as it should’ve been– things fell into place, piece after piece. I’ve never tasted such bloody defeat.

And to even think that it was rage that fixed it all for me.

If rage alone could fix, I’d burn it all if it were up to me. It scares me how much so. Like fires that cannot be quenched, raging with all the fury of a storm. It scares me how many fires I’ve held back behind the facade of being calm. And there have been tells, there have been more than mere whispers, too. I know my fires are hard to kill; I’d watch my step if I were you.

It builds in silence, this rage. I’ve never watched it take hold; only ever felt it so.

Like the claws of something cold. Ugly and full of want. Thirsty for the tears of those who could ever do me wrong. I’ve regretted losing grip, I’ve regretted letting go. I have too many regrets to begin to count them all. And the worst of it all comes to me in rage that ends in tears I could never hold back, shaking out of me until I’m all but wrung out.

If rage alone could fix, there’d be no voices that were held down. But what if rage is the only thing that could, and all the voices were snuffed out? Like fires too dangerously close to the truth, teetering at the edge. Perhaps rage is the only thing that could fix, and perhaps it has them all scared. Fear is an ugly thing, I’ve known, it only makes you weak and nothing more.

I think about it too often, how my rage keeps dying deaths, only to come back to me a million times worse. I think about it too often, how my rage has hurt me more than heal, only for it to win all the battles I’d rather forgo. And it makes me wonder if this darkness is all I am, but what I am is fire. If my rage were to lash out someday, it’d be the sum of all the tears I’ve cried.

If rage alone could fix, I’d tell you, but it is only your fire.”


Featured Image by Andrew Haimerl (andrewnef) on Unsplash

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