Fizzy Static

Crush the flowers

frantic treading

I devour them

with my hands

Jump, jump, jump —

I plunge —

bile rising in my throat

Burning swirls

lift my hair

fizzy static

eats my shape

Down, down, down —

back to earth

pressure loosens

in my chest.

Shattered blooms

sweaty hands

I lost my temper

I lost my breath

A brief poem born from an exploration of rage.

April was a busy month, but not so busy that it kept me from creating.

This piece began as part of a poetry anthology organized by a local publisher, who proposed rage as the central theme. I started exploring my own relationship with it through a couple of poems. Unfortunately, I missed the submission deadline, a small misunderstanding on my part.

Still, I don’t regret the time I spent. If anything, the process gave me a deeper understanding of how rage lives in me, something I tried to express viscerally in this poem.

What surprised me most was the creative process itself. I realized that what I write is what I embody. I can only express what is true in my body. Without that connection, there is no rhythm, no tone that can match what I feel and my experience. It doesn’t satisfy my need for expression.

It can be tempting to start arranging words, stanzas, and rhymes simply because they make sense grammatically or structurally. But for what? It feels artificial, like playing Scrabble, words that don’t belong to me. So what would be the point?

At the same time, this process of embodying can be physically and mentally exhausting. I have to return to the deeper roots of the emotion, in my chest, my skin, and even beyond my body, again and again, until they shift into the right words.

In Fizzy Static, I explore the eruption of rage, how it breaks my grounding, dissolves me into space, and slowly I bring myself back to earth.

Writing this recap fills me with a quiet sense of inspiration to keep going and exploring more. I’m curious to see where this path will lead.

Note for myself: I still like to improve the last stanza