I feel the stress climbing down
Sneaking into my shoulders
And tunneling on down.
Every time his tone
Goes to that sharp place.
Every time a conversation goes to
That weary edge of push and pull and
The argumentative, know-it-all nature.
The withering disdain he can spit out
Like bitter, ugly streams of chew.
I start an unappealing reminisce
About the days my mother
Did the same to me.
An old Dr. Suess rhyme floats into consciousness-
“I do not like this one so well. All he does is yell, yell, yell…”
It’s not at all funny, but I laugh, anyway.
Maybe it’s how ironically perfect it fits.
Anger is such a brutish thing
In the voices of ones
Who are supposed to love you
For who you are.
Grips my soul to its very core
And rips out all the joy.
And all that’s left behind is this massive wall