Anger

A note on (my) anger and fear

A realization about my writing.

Thinking about fucking. And anger. Mostly, anger.

The loss of my best friend.

Sometimes, I hold back when I write. Or, I don’t write, out of holding back.

Both sides, now.

What is it that makes me REALLY angry?

Won’t you help me be hungry?

I feel anger. Which means I’m avoiding my sadness and my fear.

My reactions to external circumstances show me, barometrically, my internal state.

On a meditation retreat, I come face to face with my warped perceptions and projections.