Poems On Rage Novels & Stories

I just stand there, my mind plotting and scheming, fueled by my rage and hurt. ################

I am after all, Rage. "Only dad calls me rage, Only dad calls me rage, Only dad calls me rage." I was taken to a cold room and was kept on a chair but I stood up and sat on the floor in a corner, my knees pressed to my chest still whispering those words. I heard a phone ring and I ignored it. I could only focus on the words in my mind and the major pain my brain kept releasing.

I was not grieving but it was rage. It wasn’t just anger anymore—it had settled deep, like a wound that never closed. A quiet thing, waiting just beneath the surface, sharpening itself in the silence. And I’d come to understand something no one warns you about—rage doesn’t fade like grief. It lingers. And when it finally strikes, it strikes harder.

I grunted at his bravery to address me as a son after everything that he have done. I took some steps back and composed myself. "It is commendable how you can still recognize the child you left so many years ago." I cannot give him a straight face, the rage is filling me up. My knees were trembling but I cannot let him see that. I am shaking because of anger. This emotion... This is the emotion that I wanted to get rid on my system but I cannot. Rage is something that can't be easily remove since people who causes my rage are still living freely in this world.

Something snapped inside me like an overstretched wire. A tremor tore through me, but this time it wasn’t fear. It was rage—hot, bitter, uncontrollable rage that had been festering like an infected wound since the moment he threw me onto that bed the night of our wedding and told me he would make me live in hell. It bubbled up from somewhere deep and dark, spilling over like poison from a broken vessel. “No.” My voice came out hoarse, shaky, but I forced it louder. “No, Kael. My fear doesn’t belong to you. My fire doesn’t belong to you.”

"That's right! Freedom of speech!" "You're punishing us! This is abuse of power!"

My hands shake, but it’s not fear anymore. It’s rage. It starts low, coiling in my stomach, spreading through my veins like fire. I tilt my face up to the moon, letting its cool light wash over me. It doesn’t calm the fire inside of me though… it fuels it. Callen curses under his breath. “Shit, Paige…” I shake my head, barely hearing him. My voice cracks when it finally escapes. “No one’s taking this from me.” He freezes. “What?”

~~~Ryder~~~ My blood was boiling. Every inch of my body felt hot, like fire was running through my veins. My fists were clenched so tight my knuckles were white, and my jaw was locked so hard it ached. The rage inside me was pure, raw, and violent. I wanted to destroy something. I wanted to make someone scream until their voice gave out.

For a moment — only a moment — I want to break something. I want to put my fist through the wall and feel wood splinter under impact. I want to shout at the ceiling. I want to demand explanation from something that does not answer. Because I saw her. Kneeling in mud. Kneeling by the hearth. Holding both versions of me without collapsing. She was not afraid. I was. The rage comes fast and hot. Not at her. At time. At the arrogance of a system that thinks repetition equals ownership. My hands curl into fists before I realize it.

Laleh's POV. Everything was gone. I tipped my head back and shut my eyes tightly, trying to contain the insane amount of the rage roaring through me. Zander Morgenstein. Zander fucking Morgenstein. Another burst of rage passes through me, hotter and far more dangerous than anything I've ever felt, my anger twisted and roared within me, eager to be tossed out, eager to destroy as recklessly as my own place had been destroyed. But I couldn't… I couldn't meltdown here.