Rage is something that scares me to my deepest core.
I’ve seen the nightmares of my father shoving my mom through walls and screaming on endlessly over spilled soup.
I’ve witnessed my brother so angry, that I watched him take an ax and hammer it time and time again, into a large tree by the porch.
I’ve seen myself, wallowing in self-misery, erupt into a volcano of action, throwing fists into cement walls and screaming to the extent of my lungs capacity. My whole body uncontrollably shaking, my eyes dripping tears like a broken faucet set out to flood the world.