I Hate You

I got angry.
No, angry is too general a word. It encompasses all the words that don't accurately describe my emotions (such as upset, irritated, agitated, and morose.)
I became overwhelmingly furious.
And indigent. And insulted.

Then I felt all the anger drain out of me.
No, not drain out. Fade into the very center of me. There are so many layers between me and it, you would never notice it's there.
Someone pulled the shades shut over my eyes, and they did not glare into the shower head. They did not interrogate Pantene and Dial and Volume Conditioner.
And my ferocity fought to stand strong and wage war, but found no battlefield.
So it crept into the soft, warm, nougty center of me and began to fester.
Festering and rotting like a dead rat caught in the walls. There is no scent to give it away. There is no warning.

Someday, I'll be as angry on the outside as I am on the in.
I will stand and scream and not apologize, and no one will ask me to.

Until then, I will hunch my shoulders and shade my eyes and
I
Will
Cave
In
On
My
Self until I am the most broken, vulnerable little girl you have ever seen.