I’m just low grade angry

It’s just there.

Like the blood in my veins. Or the air in lungs.

The anger is just there.

Always there. Around.

Sometimes it’s more noticable. Many times you’d never notice it but there is a knowing that it can’t not be there.

Angry about everything. Everyone. Nothing is quite right. It's all just off. No one says anything that I can agree with. No one does anything that is right. It’s always just off. Always something to criticize. To pick at. To note how it falls short.

Ugh, even writing this I see how it is me.

It is little me.

Reliving the sense that was my life.

A fate worse than abuse.

But you’re not allowed to say that.

You’re not allowed to wish that you were abused.

We still measure pain on what we see. On what we believe is right or wrong.

The acceptable ways to harm.

To think and say these things is to stand outside the mould.

So we don’t say them.

Because we all want to be part of something.

We’ve lost enough already. There is not losing this all over again.

Except to not say it is to lose. Again.

We lose ourselves.

Being angry in here stops me from being able to be with you out there.

But I am entitled to my anger. To my experience.

Yet I must choose.

Decide between living and LIVING.