I get shamed of the way she looks sometimes, and try to dress her up, you know, make her something she ain’ t. One time I let anger sleep on my sofa for months and months, because I didn’ t know what to call her, and I couldn’ t even look her in the eye. She made me feel strange, and I started acting different, but I didn’ t know it until a friend asked me, What’ s wrong? And I said, Nothing, I’ m fine. But she didn’ t believe me. After a while, she just stopped asking and stayed away.
Then I found out that anger had teeth that went inside my stomach, and her saliva was acid that burned what she couldn’ t chew. It got to be too much. I started wanting her to give back what I let her take away from me. I realized that with her just laying there on my sofa, all I could ever answer was, Nothing. I’ m fine.
So I went up in the living room and I shook her, and I said, Wake up. She had her back to me and didn’ t answer. I shook her again— Wake up, I said. She turned around slowly and just stared at me. I never sleep, she said. I’ ve been waiting for you. What’ s my name? I went through a few names before I found the right one.
We started talking, and she made me keep talking for a long, long time. Then one morning, I looked and she was gone. The sofa looked like it had never been slept on, but my mind knew-she could always come and lay back down whenever she felt like it. Yeah, I learned that I could let her come in— but I didn’ t have to let her stay. You see, my place just ain’ t big enough for that.
So now, when life gets up on the wrong side of me, and I hear that question— Are you angry? I know I have to look at my own face. I have to find my name and use my voice and say
Yes, I’ m angry. I’ m angry.