Where Will All My Anger Go?

Where will all my anger go?
Tell me, where will all my anger go?
You say I am filled with hatred,
But tell me, where will this rage flow?

Because if I express it, I am not ladylike,
I am not poised or demure;
Instead, I am animalistic and vile,
A woman who refuses to endure.

Tell me then, was it alright for me to be touched indecently?
Tell me, was it?
Then tell me this as well,
When I get angry, why do I cry afterwards, in an endless fit?

People love to read the cute poems or the uplifting ones,
For apparently, that makes me more of a sane woman.
Does my anger make me a psychopath,
A woman no longer "normal," shunned and banned?

So if you violate my boundaries,
You were just young or kidding, right?
But if I come at you with my rage,
Suddenly I am too difficult, insane, too ready to fight?

Why do I have to deny all of it,
And act sweet for your pleasure?
Do you know what it feels like to want to feel safe,
Safe in my body, my surroundings, without fear’s measure?

Where will all this pain go?
Because it is stored in my body, in my soul.
You celebrate goddesses in all forms,
But is the intensity of Maa Kali something to scorn?

Why, because if I speak up about all this strife,
Would I then be classified as the villain of life?
My anger is not madness; it’s a voice of the violated,
A cry for justice in a world so deeply saturated.

Tell me, where will all my anger go?
If I don’t unleash it, how will I ever truly grow?

~ Kanika Kaushal ✨ The Luminous Muse

Comments

Game Of Fire and Ice

Hey Mister, Why won't you play a game of Twister? I promise I won't play coy. Won't you love it if I were your only toy? You can be the Lion in the boardroom, Then make me roar in the bedroom. Let's play the game of fire and ice. You bring the sugar, and I get the spice. I am praying by myself these nights, Drowning my moans when the city sleeps tight. We can play the game of Super Sonic, And then have our own race over some gin and tonic. So find me, like an app can find a phone. No, I won't bring out my Medusa and turn you into stone. I have been getting over my fears, Learned to make my tears into spears. You can take me as you like. We can go until we hear the third strike.

Polished Sins

A suit and tie, that polished smile, Covering up sins stacked mile by mile. They flaunt “new love,” someone else’s child— A ready-made story, perfectly styled. They’ve “levelled up,” or so they preach, But on someone’s pain, they made their reach, With vows of loyalty, words so neat, While another’s screams lie beneath their feet. Oh, they “moved on” to brighter skies, Leaving someone broken, with silent cries. They mount new heights, they shout and boast— Scaling peaks on another's haunted ghost. So smile for the camera, flash your pride, Show off the life that you tried to hide. For we know the truth beneath your gleam— A hollow show, a self-made scheme.

Till You Sing

Some would say men went to war for women like you, But I would still choose war if it meant choosing you. You say you write in amorous lines, But I would let you be the woman of my tribe. You had your adventures Under The Buda Moon, But have you been loved past noon? So I can see you shine like a magical flower, In the quiet warmth of the golden hour. The invisible strings pull at my heart Can I do justice to your name? Caress you right, Till you sing like a Carnatic hymn. Inspired by the author of Under The Buda Moon, Veena Rao

Cruising Alone

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