Release

Writing poetry brings out the hate in me
At least it's not in me
I say to myself
At least it's left on some stage some page

I bet you wonder about the world
Isn't the world enough of a mess

I say the world is more of a war with  the sores we walk around with
Festering
Breaking open
Spilling inside

At least it's outside of me
Where we can mop it up
With amonia
A prayer
Band aids