Poetry

Come Sit by Me, Anger

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BY: JANA GREENE

I made a new friend today,

Well,

I’ve known her a long time.

Her name is Anger and

we’ve been frienemies as far back

as I can remember.

She introduced herself

when I was just a little girl,

but she scared me with her

suffocating presence in my home

and in my heart.

Don’t be angry…it’s unbecoming!

That’s the message driven

into us little girls

like railroad spikes.

And we accept it

because we are told

it’s for a good cause…

our “betterment,”

but mostly for the betterment

Of others,

as it turns out.

So I substituted Anger with Sadness

For most of my life,

hoping no one would notice,

least of all myself.

As it turns out,

anger and Sadness are

thick as thieves.

Two sides of the same coin, really.

Sadness is safer

because it’s familiar.

“Be a good girl,” I said to Me,

my whole life,

especially when I was only little.

“Who are you to be angry?

Anger is reserved for people

Who can afford to

Lose other people.

Angry people are accustomed

To being generally safe.

No one is going to abandon them,

It’s a luxury –

being comfortable with Anger.

And the tax on that luxury

is cold, steel fear.

Because when I’m angry,

I wonder…

what if this person sees

that pissed off side of me,

and leaves…

just closes up shop.

What if I’m too much.

or not enough?

Don’t be angry….You’re too sensitive!…

And the insult of invalidation stings.

I’m old hat

at recognizing a good gaslighting.

I cut my teeth on the manipulation

Of others.

Don’t be angry…it’s not the Christian way…

Aside from one lousy

and very profound table-turning,

Jesus seemed never to act in anger again.

But I believe

Jesus was TICKED on occasion.

Oy vey! How could he NOT be?

Don’t be angry…it’s unfeminine.

Not ladylike at all.

Be meek.

Be mild.

You have a feminine mystique

image to foster.

To which I say…

Welcome, Anger.

I was taught not to associate with

the likes of you.

I was told you would disappoint people

If we hung out.

If I entertained you at all.

Come sit by me, Anger.

It’s okay to use your outdoor voice.

It’s okay to get mad.

This, I tell myself,

as I grab hold of Anger’s hand,

And be okay

With me.