Starving anger

Situations arise that would make a grown man scream and a woman roar. Situations where pride is attacked, and the self is thrown to the dirt and spit on. But I ask, why don't I feel what everyone feels, I see face's turn sour and yet mine remains the same.

Red flush, heavy breathing, jaws protruding and shoulders hunching and yet my body remains as it was, calm. But then the illusion of fire turns onto me, piercing eyes see my lack of burning.

So I lie, I fake the fury, I fake the anger, I yell and scream empty words. I imagine how a mad man would react and begin to act. Some of my best performances are due to the lies I tell, the unrealistic fury I expel from my being, the hollow passion shrouding the truth. I always imagine a fog of yellow smoke flowing in front of me, covering the acting. Only can the other barely see the anger i protruded.
Why do i do it? Is it to be like everyone else? Or is everyone else lying like me, and expect me to fake the anger with them?

There are times of remembrance. Sometimes missing the strength and the energy that anger bestows upon everyone one of us. The quick rush of adrenaline that pumped through my body, slowing the world down to a halt shrinking the world down to the here and now. Being in the moment of pure fury, no limitations, no inhibitions, just pure desire to release the pent up frustrations.

I searched for the answers, questions of where or when the anger might return. Testing what used to call upon the emotion I'm ultimately left alone. Fat, stupid, wrong, ugly, all used by those deemed unbearable and yet not one helps me call the anger back.

What if my anger is collecting, unconsciously building until something ultimately breaks the dam? What happens when the true anger is released, I fear the possibility of losing myself to it. So wait and lie, lie, and lie some more. Until I know. Until no longer does my anger hold back, and my body feeds the fire a mountain of lumber.