Love and hate are the opposite sides of the same coin–they’re made from the same material, but only look slightly different. What about love and anger? Why do they hold on and never let go? It’s in every one of us, for as long as we have lived. It’s in the snake that slithered across Eden. It’s in the two brothers, created with love, destroyed by anger. You can’t have one without the other. They’re too intertwined to separate.
I recognize love, but I’ve yet to understand anger.
Anger is familiar, it’s constant. Always at the back of my mind, buzzing, waiting. It travels to my stomach, makes me tremble. It’s there all the time. Waiting, waiting, waiting. I am tired. What else is there left in me after all I’ve given? What else can I fix to please? How long until I’m left with nothing, not even myself.
The anger of my father, the rage of my mother. The screams wanting to come out. The hurt slashes and the disappointment bleeds out.
If I scream, will you be there?
If I cry, will you hold me?
I carry so much anger, it’s almost as heavy as love. There’s resentment dressed as anger, missing all those who have left. Why did you leave? Why did you leave me? There’s jealousy pretending to be anger, glaring at what could’ve been mine. Why them and not me? Why would you do that to me? There’s annoyance hiding behind anger, expecting the world to bend at my will. Why couldn’t you listen? Why do you exist? There’s frustration slipping through the anger, making my head pound from all the stress. Why won’t you leave me alone? Why can’t you disappear? I can feel the anger behind my eyes, blurring my vision until it’s red, red, red.
Tell me Carson, am I a monster?
Or would you argue it’s not anger? Maybe it isn’t… perhaps it’s hurt. It may be just the girl who wanted to reach out, but was too scared to do so. The girl who wanted to cry out for attention and a little bit of love. Perhaps, it is the girl who wants to be heard. The one that hides behind the woman who still doesn’t know how to be one.
Was the snake ever heard? Do you think He ever held it, caressed it, and asked for forgiveness? Or did He let it keep slithering away until there was nothing left but red? Abandoning the snake because there was nothing to be done for it. Too far, too red.
If I’m not a monster, then I wish to be the angel that fell for then I know I have loved, even with all my anger.
L’Ange déchu by Alexandre Cabanel.