Passion lends itself to poetry

Much better than love.

Even better than sadness.

Anger is mother’s milk

For the lyrical spirit

Desperation is fuel.

 

You can’t make an omelet

Without breaking some eggs.

And you can’t break through

To the heart of the matter

Until you feel what it’s like

To shake with powerless rage.

Until you’re afraid

You might actually shatter.

 

Wisdom may bring peace

But peace is not wisdom.

No more than ignorance

Is bliss.

Or cleanliness

Is godliness.

 

I wish you could understand

How much you inspire me

By pushing the limits

Of what is truly unacceptable.

How your relentless lack

Of basic, human decency

Drives me to define how I hate you

In a thousand imaginative ways.