(WIP) My Anger

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.


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?