It is my beautiful little drug.
It’s all I have left.
It’s not a medicine off the shelf.
It is so much more than that.
It has followed me home like a pup,
and I love my anger,
I let it out to play in these little backyard poems.
But my anger, it is not real anger,
It is pseudo, it is pseudo rage.
It is only fake news.
I am not angry. I am ugly.
And I love anger, mixed with ugly,
a perfect concoction that grabs a hold of you
Strengthens you like an elixir.
Makes you type harder on the keys, like something matters
when nothing really does.
Like if you get to the end of this poem,
there is the meaning behind everything,
But there is no resolution.
You want it.
wait for there to be one.
there is no
without an ending.
And love is no resolution.
Where there is none
And it has
all of you
or you think it does
and you wait
Jason Wright is the editor and founder of Oddball Magazine. His column appears weekly. His new book is Train of Thought.