anger is such a full emotion to feel.
you can never be half angry.
except you can. but it's different,
it's not anger, it's just
red.
not an emotion at all,
not even a half-emotion,
if such a thing were to exist;
just a colour,
dwelling within you.
i don't know what it is,
or why it's there.
there's something about anger
that's rational,
that's controlled,
that's reasonable within its own bounds.
it has a purpose.
(red does not.)
it has a cause, and an effect.
it gives, wholeheartedly.
it's so real,
but that's why it's such a cliché.
sweaty, shaking palms,
burning cheeks,
racing heartbeat.
every exhale heavy, every inhale calculated.
red shows none of that weakness,
no vulnerability.
red is cold, not hot.
red does not give anything.
because anger is such a full emotion to feel,
and red is so empty.
red is the anger of absence,
the frustration that there is nothing else to feel,
or that i am not good enough.
that there is so much left to do,
yet time is growing restless,
and i weary.
some days, i am not a person, i am a colour.
today i was red.
