Why We Cry When We’re Angry

There is a tremor in my upper lip. It quivers, small shifting, plates adjusting. The top lip shimmering, moving my face in uncontrolled waves, unless I clamp my mouth shut, or press my lips together, smiling. An earthquake (also known as a quake, tremor, or temblor) is the shaking of the surface of the earth, resulting from the sudden release of energy in the lithosphere that creates seismic waves. 

I remember the burn of pure fury. I can hold moments of it in the tightening of my ribcage, the tingle at the back of my neck. Once, rage lived in the heart of me, once it breathed between my ribs.

When I was nine years old, I kicked Colt Martin in the crotch. He wouldn’t leave me alone. I sunk my elementary-sized foot into the place where his legs met, and he dropped to the ground. Smell of bark chips and tears.

I got in trouble. The