Becky Ridsdale builds "Anger is..." out of one repeated phrase, as if she is trying to pin down a feeling that keeps slipping away. Each line offers a new definition, and they don't always agree. Anger is "cleansing but shameless," yet it is also "brainless," "cold," and regretted afterward. That mix of release and guilt feels honest, like someone who has said something cruel in the heat of the moment and knows it.
The speaker seems to understand anger from the inside. The longest line, about the numbness that stops you seeing how much you've hurt others, sounds like hard-won self-awareness. Words like "war" and "storm" make anger feel huge and out of control, while "lonely" and "alone" suggest it isolates people even when they're surrounded by others.
The mood is heavy and tense, a little weary. The short final line, set apart from the rest, delivers the biggest claim: "Anger is life." It could mean anger is unavoidable, or that it's tied up with being human at all.