My anger has nowhere good to go

Dear Delyara, So it leaks. Into my tone. Into my patience. Into silence. Into headaches. Into tears over small things. Into the way one extra question can feel physically offensive by the end of a long day. I am angry about more than I say. About money. About overuse. About old unfairness. About work. About how much of womanhood still depends on us translating ourselves into more acceptable shapes. But because I have been trained to make anger polite before I let it become visible, it rarely gets to move cleanly. That makes it heavier. And more toxic. And lonelier.