My Rage

My rage doesn't always blossom
Sometimes it shuffles to the surface,
Dancing like two God awful people
That never should have stepped onto the floor
But when it grows into a flower I pet it and
Coax it, ready it to do great things
To speak for itself when otherwise
It makes a mess and I am so very helpless
For then I am just a mouse that doesn't know
How to say things in an exact kind of way
But with this rage I can pick you apart
I can pluck from your core ugly petals
I can sit on you, stand on you, walk on you, dance
I can look at you and feel pretty, always
For I am a goddess in a massive red coat and
You are convinced, of course, that
My skin is scarlet and that I am bigger than you.