I am not broken. I may not fit, or work properly, but i am not broken, and i will not act like i am out of pride. I will not lash out in anger. I am angry, but it is my anger, and i keep it to myself. i am enraged, but my voice will stay quiet. Know this of me: that my hands itch for wrath, but i will not thrash out at the world.
My anguish will not inspire violence or bad poetry, and, if i can help it, hurtful words. Perhaps i will whisper them to the shadows and let them dissipate quietly, victimless. Perhaps i will pray, letting my words fall on the deaf ears of heaven.

or perhaps i will consort with demons.