The Peacemaker- The War Machine: A Secret Box of Poetry

I am not so worried about the consequences of words this time around
Why? Why? Why? (cried out the war machine) 
because I am tired of holding back
I am tired of being the level-headed one - the peacemaker- the mediatior
you! who spews out whatever impulsive and angry thought comes to mind
is not concerned about the damage you cause, or so it seems
so why should I?

but the peacemaker says:
"lets stop and think and retreat and breathe 
before our words explode madly onto this scene
for words are like weapons and wounded and destruction
they have consequence - "
yes, always with the future in mind- I speak, always with the future in mind. 
while the warmachine inside is screaming FUCK YOU!
fuck you for hurting my feelings
fuck you for smothering me with your energy
fuck you for only going to the surface of the problem!
fuck you for not accepting me for me! 
for never saying thank you
for making me feel unappreciated
for pushing me away

This, I throw at you- like bombs and stale pies and china
staining the moment and it is splattering on and around you now
on your skin
in your hair
on your clothes
in your head

and so it is written.
the peacemaker tip toes around the now slumbering war machine,
slipping these thoughts into some secret box of poetry
locked. never to be disclosed.