Rage. Fury. Wrath. 

"It's bad to be angry", they said." You're scary when you're angry" they croaked. "Rage does not suit that pretty face" they mocked. Their faces were quite a picture, when she burst out in fury. Looking back 'twas quite funny. But she hated it. Made her feel like a monster. So she stifled her rage, locked it up behind giant doors, like rapunzel in her little palace. She rarely visited, afraid it would somehow find it's way back in her life.

Years passed. Her success was admirable. Except for little instances anger was kept well in check.  The little dude was never taken out to play. Little did she know, that instead of killing him she was giving him food. It grew like fire when given wood. The little dude was not so little anymore. Slowly it started to spread, around the door, tweaking at the bolts trying to find a crack, an imperfection.

And it did. She was weak and ever the opportunist, it thrust forward, creating bigger cracks in the magnificent door. And it finally broke it down.  It grew and spread like cancerogenous cells. After years of being bottled up it enjoyed it's new found freedom.

And her? She was tired. Tired of fighting it off. Tired of keeping all inside. But afraid. Afraid of what they would say. Afraid that they would mock. Afraid that this time instead of scared faces she'll get their backs as they leave. Not caring enough to stay and ask why. Letting her be consumed by this wrath, for which she knew she had herself to blame. For she made her bed, and now it was time to lay on it.


Mask of Deception

Every day she sits in front of the mirror and looks at the plain girl staring back. She nods her a silent good morning, whilst observing the dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep, the first signs of wrinkling on her forehead from worrying to much and the lack of life in her eyes. She tries to smile but the girl does not respond, that's not part of her job.

She bids farewell to the faults of the skin as she starts applying her makeup, slowly, methodically, a routine perfected through years of practice. As layer after layer is added the girl in the mirror changes. With each layer she becomes less recognisable, more normal. Evidence of last night's lost sleep vanishes along with any hint of worry.

The final touches are done, the mask is almost complete. She looks in the mirror and searches for traces of the girl there was this morning. She whispers sorry, as she fixes a perfect smile on her perfectly made up face completing the unflawed  mask of deception.



Some promises are kept, some are broken, some are twisted in a way that you forget what the initial promise was. But why do we promise? Why do we depend on them so much? We know we'll be disappointed so why do we still do it? Is it because we want to believe that we can keep stuff from happening? Stop the world from changing and people from leaving? We know we can't do that stuff and yet we still try. And then lo and behold we end up heart broken. Why? Because we realize that our life is not what it was yesterday, we find empty closets and a little note saying sorry, we hear the words we'd confided in one person in other people's mouths.

And then what? We sit down and cry and curse the world and life for being a bitch? It's our fault isn't it. Not the world's. The world shows us that things change every day, she gives us hint of what life will bring us. But do we take those hints? No. So then we lay in a corner licking our wounds hoping for a better life and better friends, parents, spouses, fianc├ęs and better us.

And don't we look pathetic ? Aren't we a sad species indeed? Instead of getting up and get back on track we blame the others who broke the promises we forced on them. Well maybe it's time we suck it up and grow up and stop depending on promises someone made on a good day where everything looked doable.