The Rage We Carry

There is a way

we see anger.

Hysterical.

Erratic.

Unstable.

Anger becomes excess.

Grief becomes insanity.

Tears become evidence of brokenness—

instead of proof

that something is real.

So we learn to quiet ourselves.

To repress what is heavy.

To carry what has nowhere else to go.

This is accumulation.

We are told it’s a requirement.

to hide anger, grief.

To quietly ferry the emotions

of our ancestors.

Generations have watched their children

their bodies,

their innocence,

their trust,

violated.

We have witnessed.

We have experienced.

Rape.

Abuse.

Silence.

Again.

And again.

Consent debated

when none was given.

Reduced to bodies,

to parts,

to “too emotional”

to be believed.

This is where rage takes root.

We have carried life and death

in the same breath.

We have birthed children

into unsafe worlds.

We have buried generations of hope.

We have been betrayed—

We have absorbed the fault.

Daughters become mirrors.

Sons repeat narratives.

No.

Silence was never protection.

It was training.

Don’t be loud.

Don’t expose

the realness of humanity.

The unraveling.

We inherited the shame of speaking.

Unstable.

Aggressive.

Inappropriate.

Rage is an unleashing

of truth,

information.

Something sacred was crossed.

Something was taken.

Something needs to be named.

If you feel nothing

that is not neutrality.

It’s the bastardization of normality.

So this is my declaration,

so it is known.

If I witness harm

to my children,

to my brothers and sisters,

to those trying to be different,

all of this will rise—

not as chaos,

but as clarity.

As protection.

As a refusal.

My people will see rage.

A glorious phoenix,

lighting up,

beautiful savagery.

They will know

the burning is

for both worlds.

Clearing a way for safe passage.

Igniting those blocking the path.

To silence the old words.

To radiate.

It will be unfiltered, destructive love—

remembrance and retribution.

They will know

Indifference is no longer strength.

Morgan Bresko

A reading.