Repressed and compressed,
Anger accumulates inside me
like a ball of yarn,
with superimposed layers
of disappointment,
conflict and absorbed aggression,
intertwined with incomprehension.

The knots in my stomach
untie themselves slowly
with each deep breath I take.
I tug gently on the thread with my pen,
coax out the wrath by writing.
The ball unfurls, shrinking imperceptibly at first,
transforming red and black strands of anger into ink,
and I knit words across the page,
leaving an empty space within called relief.