Beneath the Plane
A honest poem on rage
What will it be today?
A sly remark, a sharpened tongue?
Spilled milk, a sleepless night?
A failed task, a foiled plan?
Most of the time my surface is calm,
like a placid sea on a windless day,
unbothered and untouched,
even serene (or so it seems).
But beneath the plane
of my un-rippled frame
a frenzy of insecure rage gathers.
Traumas like bloodthirsty sharks wait,
and wait,
and wait,
for life to nick my skin just right —
a little blood is all it takes.
Will I bleed today?
This poem was generated by the author’s human mind with zero AI / LLM involvement.
i struggle with irritation and this really spoke to me. thanks Noah.
Woah. I relate to this deeply. Especially that feeling of it always being at the very surface, threatening to spill at any second.
And for some reason, parenting brings up all the suppressed rage I never knew I had. Daily asking God for help in taming it. Thank you for sharing openly, Noah!