ANGER

In this house you can’t scream, you can’t argue.

Silence is in force. In this house, bellies close.

Neither peace nor war.

There is castration mistaken for respect.
There is perpetual winter that extinguishes all resentment.
There is only room for biting sarcasm.

You can’t argue in this house. For the good of all.

Because anger is destruction. Affection is a problem to be educated.
It’s an imprinting that becomes a certainty of mine.
I collude with the denial of what a human relationship is.

I’m afraid of arguments because “who knows what happens”.

And outside the home, often, there is the reality of those with the same baggage that crystallizes my fears.

…other times, there may be the reality of those who do not confirm my certainties.

And if I have courage, I let myself be put into crisis. He comes who has not lived in that house, has not colluded.
I remain silent because arguing for me is destruction, it is loss, disappointment. Anger mounts but the mouth is sewn shut. You can’t argue in my house. But my home now is me and I’m scared.

but then, I open the front door, to leave. I open my mouth, to send you away. And after setting fire to a relationship, the answer is not winter, nor abandonment.

But the comparison. The hug.

And all the imprinting, the projection of what “certainly” would have happened, deflates…and falls to the ground lifeless.

Because no one died…

…except the old certainties.

Gianluca Ambrosini