There are days when I hate everything and I seethe with an anger that flows both from within me and without. Anger surrounds me and I am anger itself; hatred is the way the truth and the life and I am drowning in it. These days pass and I tell myself I am not a hateful person. I tell myself that anger is an invader: a foreign body in my body. But they come home to me — anger and hatred — they come home to me until my body is warm with their fire and this body is a hearth and there is comfort in that, naturally. What is natural, to me? 

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