young storm

on aggression.

In the little boy today who

threw his fist into another boy’s eye

over and over again, ceasing only to

cry louder than the one he had bruised

I saw you, with your aggressive slash

depressive transgression, your 

sweet touch burned a sickly mauve

into that guy’s face, when he made you mad.

I heard you, with the hollow echo of a metal bar

you ripped from a railing and 

tossed down a stairwell carelessly, or

maybe because you cared too much.

I told him to stop and grabbed his wrist 

and yet remained a silent spectator to that

childish fury bubbling in your

adolescent adrenaline,

because through the crimson stains and

above the chaos and under trembling

violence, I saw and heard you, 

your cries the loudest of all.