Dangerous is the Color of My Anger

Dangerous is the Color of My Anger

here I am again

having to put on the 

body armor 

yet again

before I travel outside myself

lest the slings and arrows catch me

unaware

and I become foolish

do not be misled

I am a pacifist not because

I am good

or because I walk 

such a superior path – 

far from it

I am a pacifist 

(more accurately 

an aspiring one 

or better a lapsed one)

because I know oh-so-well

the violence 

that dwells 

within me

and I would not 

do you harm

weapons are bad things 

in the wrong

hands

(are there any

right ones?)

mine are most definitely 

the wrong hands

my weapons are words

and I know how to use them

with the precision of a surgeon

and the detachment of a serial killer

I continue to wrestle

the angry monster

and she is me

thus far does the weaponry

remain safely in the armory

of my mind

sore provoked,

I withdraw

into silence –

the only safe space

I know to protect

you from me –

and ponder

first things –

important things –

God things –

and recall not

who I am

but who I am

called to be

it will have to do