sometimes, when you’re angry, 
what you really are is hurt…
and disappointed,
and sad,
and confused. 
but it’s easier to claim the anger;
because the other stuff 
is a tangled ball of yarn, 
and it’s tidier
to shut it away 
In an old shoebox 
and promise yourself 
you’ll find the end of it 
and untangle it
one day… 
when you have more time,
and patience, 
and distance 
between you and the person 
who broke your heart. 
but you know it’s a lie –
the truth is, 
that day never comes, 
and all of our closets burst
with shoebox coffins
for string so knotted and frayed
that it will never again 
be useful 
to anyone.