You are too angry.
Perhaps this is so.
But oh when the barren ground cuts your feet while you chase, the taste of blood bright and hot on your tongue and your barbarian heart beats loud enough to drown everything else out, in that moment when there is only energy and rage, in that moment when you would fight the world and laugh as they cut you to pieces, because it was never about the winning, it was always about the fight. Have you ever felt as alive as in that moment? Does it matter if death follows, as long as you have that moment?
And you want what from me? Apologies? To change my ways? To sit quietly in the corner, hold my tongue, bow my head, fit in the little corner of the galaxy you've deigned to allot me and not dare take up anymore than that? No time, no attention, no space, no sound. Nothing. Take only what is offered and be silent. And you offer nothing.
I will not. I am not yours. Who are you to tell me to behave? What right have you over me? None.
To these and these alone I will submit. These and these alone can tell me to stand down. Only the ones who love me. Family, friends, mate. It does not matter. If they love me, if they give to me that which is most important, time and affection, then to them I will give all that I am.
Perhaps no one will ever give enough that it will be worth more to me than the fight in the long run. Perhaps no amount of affection can curb my self-destruction. This is no lack on their part. It is a defeciency on mine, but I am the way I was made to be. No more and no less. Perhaps there will be no one who walks beside me for more than a time. All of them realizing they stand beside a half-mad wild thing, and choosing to turn away. This too is no fault of their own, though I would not have turned on or away from them.
So. Perhaps I am too angry, but it is the quickest way to feel and feel deeply, hot a true, and who are you to tell me not to? Particularly when there are so many things worth being angry about. Every small thing you turn from saying it is not worth it, those add up. They form a pattern. A pattern of things that are unacceptable and yet which you have accepted because they are not worth fighting about.
Life is not fair you say, rather than acting to make it so. You think yourself wise. Perhaps. To me it looks like laziness or cowardice to allow so many things that should not be, but what know I? I am only a beast, snapping at the end of it's chain.
When there are so many things that are wrong, when so many choose to give nothing but pain and this is acceptable, and you tell me I am too angry. There are two reactions to prolonged cruelty, laughter, hope, healing and the like can only last so long. Sadness, despair and self pity or wrath. I will choose wrath every time.
You are too angry.
I am precisely as angry as I was made to be.
And that is meant in all ways. If you understand only one, you do not understand enough.