Always burning
It sits in my chest like a match that won’t die,
a small, stubborn flame that keeps licking the sky.
I wake up with heat in the back of my throat,
like anger’s the air and I’m learning to float.
It’s there in the silence, it’s there when I speak,
it sharpens my words and it hardens my cheeks.
Even the calm feels a little too tight,
like peace is a stranger that won’t stay the night.
I don’t always know what I’m angry about
just a pressure, a pulse, a permanent shout.
It hums in my bones, it crawls through my skin,
like something is wrong deep somewhere within.
And I hate it
the way it turns moments to something they’re not,
the way it makes small things feel burning and hot.
I hate how it lingers, how it won’t let me rest,
how it builds up a storm in the cage of my chest.
I want quiet mornings.
I want to feel light.
I want to stop turning every shadow to fight.
But anger’s a habit that learned me too well,
a language I speak like a personal hell.
So I carry it, heavy, wherever I go
a fire inside that I never quite throw.
Living with a constant feeling of anger can be deeply isolating and exhausting. From my own experience, that persistent 'fire inside' is more than just an emotion—it's a complex state that colors every interaction and moment. Anger often feels like a built-in defense mechanism, sometimes protecting us, sometimes trapping us in cycles of frustration. Over time, I discovered that acknowledging this 'stubborn flame' rather than suppressing it is key to recovery. Mindfulness and self-reflection have helped me understand the roots of this inner heat. Often, unresolved stress, unmet needs, or past wounds fuel this anger, turning it into a permanent shout, as described in the poem. I started journaling to capture these feelings, which helped me recognize patterns in my thoughts and triggers. Gradually, I learned to transform the energy from anger into something more constructive—like motivation for change or self-compassion. This shift isn’t easy; the habit of anger feels like a language we speak fluently, sometimes without realizing. Additionally, engaging in calming morning routines, such as meditation and deep breathing, helped me create moments of peace that weren’t strangers but companions. While the storm inside doesn’t vanish overnight, welcoming calmness reduces the intensity of the internal fire. This poem resonates with many who carry a similar heaviness—a reminder that we're not alone in our inner battles. Accepting the presence of anger also means accepting the possibility of growth beyond it, lightening the load, and finding quiet mornings through persistent effort and care.
