You wear your attitude like a shield—
like a force field it surrounds you
emanating in the shift of your shoulders
the curl of your lip
the furrow of your brow,
exuding from your pores as you gorge
on the hurt and pain you leave in your wake.
Unhappiness is your cancer;
anger your disease.
So build your walls of brick and stone,
wattle and bone—
I’ll hold my tongue while you dangle your bait,
knowing that fate eventually comes around…
and those who concede to hostility and hate
© Ginny Brannan 2017