Tangible

I stomp on bags of anger
The blood of hate
The agony of war
The pain of being weak

I slap the sounds of terror
The crippledness of fear
The horror of sadness
And the guilt of being bad

I attack the problems
But I'm still not noticed
I cry and scream for attention
But no one else is there
Everything is normal
Why didn't I change anything?

And then I think
I stomped on not even matter
I slapped a feeling
What difference does it make
If it's not even tangible