Rage

Rage is not loud at first.

It arrives as heat—

a low drum in the ribs,

a tightening behind the eyes,

a refusal of the body

to keep swallowing glass and calling it grace.

Rage is what shows up

when love has been cornered too long.

When truth has been told

to hush itself.

When the soul learns

that silence is not the same as peace.

Rage is the animal

that remembers.

It knows every line that was crossed,

every “it’s fine” that wasn’t,

every time the heart was asked

to shrink so someone else could feel tall.

Do not mistake rage for cruelty.

Cruelty is careless.

Rage is precise.

It points directly at the wound

and says,

Enough.

Rage burns, yes—

but fire is not the enemy.

Fire cauterizes.

Fire illuminates.

Fire says,

This will not be carried forward.

Rage is grief

with its spine straightened.

Fear

that has learned to speak.

Love

that finally chose itself.

If you listen closely,

rage is not asking to destroy—

it is asking to protect.

It is the boundary

that grew teeth.

It is the no

that learned how to stand.

Let rage move through you

without handing it the throne.

Let it tell the truth

and then lay down its sword.

Because once it is heard,

rage becomes clarity.

And clarity

becomes power.

— Flower InBloom 🌑🔥