I pour out the ingredients of my anger the bitterness and betrayal which feeds it onto a page, I spread it wide, spread it thick. Like my legs when I was open to living life in his love and not withdrawal.

I let allow the viscous red to linger on my fingers.

Like I had kissed them with aunties lipstick…and I let it crust my pillow as my head leans in with heaviness, with sorrow with memories of people I once trusted.

But are not my family.

I leave my emotions here in this room, sealed closed by this post like a secret to burn after reading.

This is the only safe place.

My anger is only safe in dreams and memory.