I am an angry woman. 

No, I don't have picket signs

propped up in my garage

or a coarse voice,

from screaming.

I've never marched

down a street with proud sisters,

demanding what we deserve.

Respect.

I've stayed at home,

quietly forming loud opinions. 

I listen as every woman

I have ever truly known

remembers her personal horrors,

waking nightmares,

crying in ways I cannot

even begin to describe, and

I am an angry woman.