Sometimes when writing poetry, I’m not sure exactly how much to reveal. I wonder: Should I write this sentence literally or should I take a more circuitous route with what I’m trying to express? There is something to be said for the writer or painter or whoever who says, “I don’t want to tell people what I was thinking when I was creating the work." But I also think that such a statement is a form of hiding. After all, if we are unaware of the thing being measured, we can't measure properly.
So, with that being said, the poem below, "Safety Valve Theory," is about anger and passion. I have both and sometimes I confuse one for the other. What's more, I sometimes think it’s good to let my anger out, only to realize later that I probably could have handled the situation in a smarter way. I conclude the poem by saying that maybe letting out anger more often but in smaller doses might be the way to go. Enjoy.
“Safety Valve Theory”
I've got the fire of a furnace -- churning, hot, bright . . .
That a membrane veils
To be polite.
It's not a facade, but I’m not sure what
Is burning in my gut.
I know that they feel it, this heat, and that's cool.
But am I just a fool?
Repeating the past, and corny at that
Instead of bridge building, painting it black?
The safety valve theory is better for me
Just a street demonstration, not an army.
Then maybe I’ll feel less of a need
To please and be appeased
A disease.
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