The Hairshirt I Wore

In the shower tonight I twisted the tiny titanium ball off its threaded mate and pulled, the thin piece of metal slid smoothly out of my skin, soaked in hot water.

I always hoped the removal of it and its mate, gone for several months now, would occur only when I had expunged the anger and bitterness in me that had made this metal part of my body. Unfortunately, 11 months later and I find myself as bitter and anger as I was then, but my body is rejecting the metal. A deeper meaning might be sought there.

But the real meaning is in the raw, red strips cutting my brow, reminding me that even the smallest tokens of the strength of my anger are likely to slip from me during the most mundane of tasks.