Soft Rage Poem

My anger and my
inclination to love
are in constant war.
I want to hurl my pain
at the one it came from
like throwing stars,
watch them sink
deep into the skin,
then I want to mend
those wounds
and forgive.
I want to scream
and rage and rip into
them with my bare hands
only to sew them back up
as I always am drawn to do.
Show me a wound and I am
duty bound to lick it clean.
How can I be so feral
yet so easily tamed?