Anger

I remember,
getting angry,
at the littlest things,
giving power
to whatever I let
pull my strings.

Whether it was people
or situations,
whatever I thought was
causing me aggravations.
I would react
like some marionette
and even more dark attract,
to my shadowed silhouette.

But it was never
any of those circumstances,
nor was it any other person.
It was me all along,
and it would only worsen
when I sang the dreaded
victim song.

The source
of my freedom
and of my discontent,
was knowing,
that no matter what it is,
only I can prevent,
and I must take,
credit and blame,
for everything I name.
For that which I feel and see,
is my experience,
out picturing from me.

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