Generational Anger

I was raised by angry people,
People whose love is often harsh and whose hate is even harsher,
People who shout and scream and cry with such deep-rooted anger,
It's difficult to remember who planted it in the first place,
That blaze of fury that licks away at the life around them,
Including themselves,
Raging on and on and on until there is nothing but ash,
And the quiet flames of a dying fire,

I was raised by angry people,
But I was also born angry,
Forced out of the comfort and safety of my mother's womb,
Forced to take the cruel world head on,
To grow up not quite understood but not quite indecipherable,
Taught to take that born-with anger and learn to control it,
But to not be so passive,
Because we are angry people,
And angry is a language well-spoken in our family,
People whose love is often harsh and whose hate is even harsher,
People who cannot help but shout and scream and cry with anger,
That we are not sure when was embedded into us as human beings,

I was born angry,
And was raised by angry people,
But so was my father,
And my mother,
And so were theirs,
Like a hereditary disease that carries out the will of God,
Like divine punishment,
And I have no choice but to carry on such a tradition,
Or let it die out with me,
Because being angry is exhausting,
And life full of nothing but anger is no life at all.