Million Dollar Baby

I look to my punching bag as an outlet.

With fists of rage and angry words,

Envisioning the thing I'm angry with

Plastered against the punching bag,

I slowly beat that bag senseless.

Consumed with anger,

It's easy to be violent.

To kick,

Jab,

Hook,

And upper-cut,

Right into the gray semblance of hate

Hanging from my ceiling.

For five minutes

The whole house shakes uncontrollably.

My mother yells for quiet,

As I yell,

And sweat,

And fight,

Against an unmoving target.

My energy soon wears off,

And the anger is fully released.

I'm left with blood red knuckles,

And the urge to guzzle a gallon of water.

But I'm also left at peace.

Cool,

Calm,

And collected once again.