My Anger – WIP

I am contemplating writing a novel in verse to process my recent miscarriage. Whether or not I will pursue publication if/when it is finished is undecided for now.

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My Anger

Is my only pulse.
Solidifies my bones.
Fills my void.
My anger is
the only real
in this surreal cloud.
My anger is
the only feeling
in a numb fog.
My rage makes
my heart beat.
Do not ask me
to quiet
my anger.
Do not tell me
It is
just a step
in the process.
Do not wish me
to quell my rage.
For without it
I am empty.
I will crumble.
I cease.

What are your thoughts?