My Sweetest Friend is My Enemy

When I was little I called my anger a beast
A beast that lived inside my chest and
Clawed within my veins and throat
I used to picture myself caging her within my ribs
At one point I looked closer and what looked back at me
Wasn't a beast at all, but myself
My rage, anger, spite has created my foundation
I worry often on whether I am a bad person or not
Because my anger is threaded throughout my being
I can't seem to set a can down without slamming it
I can't even embroider without imagining it is my skin or theirs
I don't know if I would call my anger a beast
That just simply implies she isn't me
I know my anger is my sweetest friend
But she is also my greatest enemy.