Love, grief, and anger

When I was 11, I was put into therapy.
My mind had museums where there should just be hallways.
I was told anger was always a vessel.
I don’t sit well with anger. It hurts and burns and rips me to shreds.
So after I restlessly sit next to her for awhile, we both tire out.
We lay back and she tells me her maiden name is
grief.  
“Why hold onto all of that Paige? You remember too much”
How am I supposed to put it down?
I’m looking at her and realizing she is just love in an old wool sweater
How ironic.
That love and grief can turn into something so cruel.