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Why do people succumb to anger?


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It feels so easy to slip into its grasp. But at the same time, from a distance, it looks quite stupid. Aren't we overreacting? What's the point of hitting one another, yelling at one another, going to war with one another? Yet when are up close, immersed in anger, we feel nothing but blissful rage, if that makes sense. Sweet revenge empowers us. Makes us feel as if we are at the top of the world. Maybe it is a survival mechanism. But I sure wish it weren't.
Sweltering

Your voice penetrates the silence,
ringing,
striking a blow to the peace.
Sweltering,
seeming to melt resolve,
yet instead reinforcing it.
Melding faults into positive attributes,
making me a better person.

And for that I thank you.
Behind

Standing on the sidewalk,
all are before me,
in cars,
hand in hand,
travelling the world,
while I stay at home.

Am I right,
are they wrong?
No clue,
I'm just behind.
Gone in a flash

time whizzed by,
whisking childhood away,
whisking my Saturday away,
whisking time away

life's gone in a flash
time for another day
Hypocrisy

I don't like English. It's like an omelette left to dry for eons that a million people have stepped on. And people continue to do so today.

English is a whithered up, flaky, and a pathetic form of communication. No beauty. Just archaic egg shreds.

And no one likes century old egg.

Especially me.

In a language where there are works that rhyme with truck and ditch, beauty seems almost a joke. You expect me to believe that you can work wonders out of a language that can bring someone lower than the South Pole?

English falls deeper and deeper into the pit of lost hope. There is no bringing back the fresh innocence of a new language.

There is no bringing back beauty.

And that really makes me wonder, why the heck am I writing this?
Expectations

Please let me,
Don't let me
Please let me,
Don't let me
Please,
No.
Please,
No.

Unsure what to expect,
Unsure whether to expect at all.

So I sit,
stare blankly,
and do something else.
Like a FRQ.
Pent up frustrations

Sitting in a room, maybe thirty others around me
heads down, staring at paper
eyes glued
minds fixed
but for how long?
a monster of pent up frustration waits within
but will it be let out?