The sound of anger
is not always a shout.
It can be the hiss of air
forced through clenched teeth,
a low growl coiled in the chest,
the splintering crack of silence
snapped too suddenly.
It rattles like shutters in a storm,
bangs like doors that refuse to stay shut,
clangs like iron striking iron,
each strike sparking hotter.
Sometimes it is quieter—
the thrum of blood in the ears,
the drumbeat of footsteps
pacing the same small floor,
the brittle chime of words
that could cut glass.
And when it breaks loose,
anger roars like thunder in the throat,
rolling, booming,
a storm that wants to be heard,
yet leaves in its echo
a hollow stillness—
the fragile hush
after something has fallen.
Therapy Bits 
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