Impotent rage

I feel it roiling within.

Sometimes, when I feel happy, I forget that rage, and I forget that I’m actually unhappy. The rage sinks deep inside, still churning, waiting for a crack in my happy shiny bubble I created to shield myself from things outside and within, waiting for the moment it can resurface and remind me that there are things to be angry about, things to still rage about, things that I have closed my eyes to because I didn’t want trouble, I didn’t want to quarrel, I didn’t want to cry.