Why did her anger inevitably

tangle in discombobulated thoughts,

Before short-circuiting in tears of frustration?

Flawed in the furious department,

She longed to shorten her fuse,

To unleash that elusive Kaboom.

Not now,

But in those moments of acute, red hot, highly triggered discombobulation.

She yearned to be prepared,

To know she was capable of blowing a powerful, eloquent shit-fit without imploding.

Was there such a thing as reverse anger management therapy?

Or maybe homeopathic Bitch-Drops at the very least?

She got in her car, drove down the road and screamed.