TheMysteriousPoet

Anger Oh how strong anger can be in the hands of the soft. What's frightening is how easy it comes to them, Practically molded for their hand especially. Why do the soft wield anger like it is nothing? Because the soft are also patient, possibly too patient for their own good. Once truly angered, they are unrelenting. The anger, once pent up, then unleashed unto the poor victim before them. No survivors! Not a single soul left untouched. The soft are not as soft as one may think, Which is where most people go wrong. The soft appear soft, but have a hardened interior. They choose to show softness because it is kinder to them. To express kindness is to receive kindness back, And the world can be so cold and rigid. By being sweet and soft, softness is returned, Soothing the hardened inside. To anger a soft creature is to be intentionally cruel. It quickly comes to light, as if it were never extinguished, And that's because it never truly was, But rather dimmed until the right moment.

She's Gone And just like that, She's Gone. Fourteen years came to an end on my living room floor. I did what I could, But feel like I could have done more. But there was nothing they could do. She was already on borrowed time. All these "buts" and "what ifs" are useless for a restless mind. But a restless mind does what a restless mind will do, Constantly thinking of the "buts" and "what ifs," Because that's all it knows how to do. And in the end, the restless mind becomes angry. Bursts of vivid lividity. "This shouldn't have happened this way." And yet, it did. Life has a funny way of bending the vines, Twisting and tangling them into intricate messes. Some of them snap, some of them slip into knots. Either way, it leaves nothing but chaos in its wake. She's Gone now, And there is nothing I can do to bring her back. I can be angry, but that won't get me anywhere. Although, not being angry doesn't automatically mean I've forgotten. I will always remember this cruelty, this pure

Life Life is a tricky thing. It flows and moves through all of us. It is never-ending. But it is this fluidity that makes it so fascinating. Summertime is a particular time of reflection for me. It's months before my birthday, and it's also halfway through the year. So many things have happened thus far, And so many things have yet to happen. Two cousins had a baby and one is expecting. He'll be born by the end of the year. Another cousin moved into his first apartment with his new wife. My uncle and his family will be moving back here shortly. When I think about my birthday, I think about how the years have gone by. I'll be 24. I didn't think I'd get this far. It's crazy how the time passes by. Three years ago and three days ago, unbeknownst to us, My grandmother would be dead in six months. When I think about this, something knots in my stomach. You never know when you'll lose someone. Sometimes I think back even further. Five years ago, I just graduated high school. Next year,

Fantasies of The Dreamer He's beside me and everything feels right. Turned out every little light. A hand on his chest, and a contented sigh. I drift to sleep next to my honeypie. Then everything gets dim, And suddenly I'm not next to him. It makes a turn that's rather stark. A 180 that's completely in the dark. He's dead. His blood all over the ground. It's red. It's everywhere. I let out a scream. Thank God it's only a dream. Why do I think about these kinds of things? They bring me to tears as I think about them. Car accidents, drownings, still births. Why do I do this to myself? I think it's because I'm always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I wouldn't call them fantasies, But I don't have any other name to give them. I wonder if it's to prepare me for inevitable loss. If I hurt myself, then it won't hurt me later. Emotionally torturing myself for the sake of desensitizing myself. I don't really understand it myself. Intentionally putting myself through agony that's only

Baby Names The family is extending its branches, Each leaf and twig treasured pieces of our family tree. Little bundles of joy all tentatively swaddled. They're all so precious! It is in these moments I think about my future children. What will their names be? Will they have his smile? Will they have my eyes? Oh, I hope they get my eyes! Heterochromia runs in my family. One of the babies has it, Her eyes are a beautiful honey unlike any other. They're swirled with a greyish hue, or is it green? Either way, I know they will only get more enchanting as time goes on. The new babies also have me thinking about baby names. Do I continue my middle name, or do I leave it in the dust? Such thoughts come to mind as I gaze at my meticulous spreadsheet. It's color-coded and organized by boy and girl. Each name is paired with a middle name as well. Everything's planned out perfectly. I've come up with twenty-one boy names thus far. My top pick right now is Evander James. I hope he'd have his

Golden Child vs Black Sheep Gold erodes and black fades to gray. Both caught in a realm of disarray. The messiness of the day to day. Didn't want to be this way. But the golden child glistens in the sun, And the black sheep plays with the moon. Slipping under as the perfection comes undone. Soaring into the bright sky like a balloon. A wild child and a child in chains. Who let them go through these pains?