Hold

It bubbles in my core
where I store
process and purify
and temper
my anger
into sheets

I measure
and cut
and create
my exoskeleton
to hold me up
when I cannot
hold myself

So I’m now no
longer flexible
and cannot
move too fast
But that I’m
standing
up at all
is a victory

And when
my anger
stiffens solid
and warps
metallic joints
It is love
that soothes
the skin
rubbed raw
beneath

It is love
that melts
the armour
into instruments
then plays

And it is love
that holds
my hand
so I can
dance