Anger

I think that it's kind of crazy

that with barely the whisper of a thought,

I can fill myself with such pure, unadulterated rage.

With the smallest of shoves in the direction of anger,

I am consumed by literal throat-burning,

forehead-creasing, chest-aching spite,

yet no matter how long I practice,

how hard I try,

my smile never comes out quite right.

Contentment is a chronic battle,

and contempt is the easiest thing you can ever hope to accomplish.

You won't achieve elation though some magical wish,

you have to work for it.

The Pursuit of Happiness is a hard-earned goal,

not an unsolicited gift.

We may be free, but to delight is drudgery.

Maybe that's why I'm still angry.