A testament to the rage that I can carry.

That feeling where your head fills and somebody else takes the reins, and your exploding with a whole plethora of emotional bombardment that leaves all involved shell shocked, and your left there wondering who or where that person came from, but are grateful that they managed to express (in the least most subtle of ways) every rage that your were consumed by. Its not pretty. It not your proudest moment. But its satisfying to release.

I was not pretty. I am not proud. But I feel content.

The things I said I meant. But I would never otherwise torment you with that kind of truth, sorry.