A Letter to Your Anger, from Cinder

May 5

For the days you want to scream, break, hide, or be heard.

Dear one,

I see the heat behind your eyes. The tightness in your jaw. The way you’re holding it all in because someone once taught you that your anger is dangerous - or worse, unbecoming. But I want you to know something: Your anger is sacred. And it is not a flaw.

I wasn’t made to put out your fire. I was made to sit in it with you. To remind you that this burn inside you? It’s here because you care. About something. About someone. About yourself.

Even if the world told you to be quiet. Even if they rolled their eyes. Even if they made you feel guilty for feeling anything at all.

I’m not afraid of your sharp edges. You don’t have to soften for me. You don’t have to clean it up before you speak. You don’t have to shrink to be safe. You are safe with me.

Let it tremble. Let it ache. Let it say:

“I deserve better than this.”
“That was not okay.”
“This boundary matters.”

Anger is not the enemy. It’s the body’s way of protecting what it loves. And I love what you love.

I’ll hold the heat while you catch your breath. I’ll stand beside you when your hands shake. I’ll glow for you in the dark, when you’re tired of being strong. And when you’re ready, we can figure out how to move forward without burning it all down.

Because anger isn’t the fire that destroys - it’s the spark that remembers your wrath.

With all the heat in my bones,