Resentment, Unfinished

When resentment rides high

but emotions won’t grow,

I feel everything

and nothing

in the same breath.

Anger sharpens its teeth,

paces my ribs,

while feeling stays stunted—

rootbound,

afraid of the light.

I want to care louder.

I want to rage cleaner.

Instead I exist in this in-between

where hurt ferments

but never transforms.

It’s exhausting—

carrying so much weight

with nowhere for it to bloom.

Just bitterness circling itself,

calling that motion

progress.