That’s my anger in a bunny suit

1:

Unsure of what to do with all her anger

she dresses it up in a pink bunny suit

as her anger grows, it fills up the suit

but no one’s put out by an anger bunny (it’s soft to touch)

until her anger gets too big and the suit begins to strain at the seams,

developing a long tear through which a thin noxious stream

of anger leaks out and courses through the room; putrid and toxic

(even anger needs some sun you know)

the drifting poison gas confuses everyone

and they stumble out gasping, disoriented, red-eyed

because her pink bunny anger has nearly killed them.

2:

All the angry were hurt once

and all the angry will hurt again

3:

She bottles up her anger

but she’s still surprised

when it spills out of her

in fat, hot (embarrassing) tears

she would prefer a solid scream

but her anger is all water

and a pinch of salt.

4: How to process your anger:

Prod the anger and let it bubble up to the surface, do you see it froth? Good, now let it settle somewhere cool and dark as you count to ten. Take a deep breath, look at the anger again, has it risen? Can you smell the anger? Oooh that’s bad. Let it cool until it matures into a sparkly fizz that you can serve in tall glass (and pour down the gullet) of X who needs a sharp dose of your processed, logical anger that’s now fermented into a perfectly normal, Legit Concern™

5:

she’s five when she hears them say angerishoos and wonders what this thing her father has is. it sounds like a creature a rakshasa an IT a thingy and sometimes she gathers the courage to look for the IT, the thingy and she does find angerishoos one day, tethered to her father’s desk, it’s small and cute even if its eyes are red and guess what it speaks! “will you take me with you?” it asks and she says alright because she doesn’t know what else to do with it, it’s hers now, in fact she still has it- a well-nourished thing, thriving like a beloved family pet.

6:

There was once a timid, Indian mathematician who wandered into an icy, country where there was no sun for months, a country where people smiled but their smiles never reached their cold, blue eyes. Are these people angry or are they sad, he wondered. Anger should be a hot, red thing, he felt. A torrid spurt, that burns briefly, not a sharp, frosty thing that stabs and leaves a scar. To solve whatever was in his mind, the mathematician came up with an equation for anger. I found it yesterday, it goes as follows:

Hot, red anger > Cold, white rage

Cold, white rage > Sudden outburst

Sudden outburst > Harboured resentment

Because, Harboured resentment = Lifelong sadness

Hence, proved.