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Rage

I stand besides myself, outside of my body, observing

and watching as someone else takes full control.


Control over my bodily movements, control over

my verbal communication, control over everything.

The words of anger fall from her lips, gushing and

oozing in negativity.


Her name is Ms Rage and I really do not like her at

all. She is too unpredictable and often too hard to

control.


I understand her existence, her reason for being

because sometimes anger gets results, anger puts the

bad people into their place in life and anger gets

things done. But it is not always nice.

My own presence is one of calmness, controlled

behaviour, and pleasant words with positivity.

But not her, not Ms Rage.

She would rather stab with a pen rather then write

with one.


As I aged, matured in my ways, we opened up com-

munication myself and Ms Rage.


She wasn't happy at first, her reasons for existing

valid but at the same time problematic. Then came

the day when I said,

"continue this behaviour and

you'll be in serious trouble dear,"

she did not like

the comment and started to back down,

allowing me more control over myself and to allow

for an argument with grown up words being used

instead of rubbish she use to spew.


One day came

the ultimation,

"either write with that pen or put it

down and do one forever.

Ms Rage, hissed in anger, her eyes furious, but un-

derstanding overtook her entire being.


Ms Rage, retired that day, her pen used only for

writing now,

she is still there, lingering, waiting her opportunity

to break loose,

an opportunity that will never become available

because the calmer me is more in control now.

I'm sorry Ms Rage,

but your time here is done, time to retire and time

to only write with that pen instead of fighting with

it.


By Connie Brown

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