anger

Her Uncontrollable Anger!

Sometimes I do feel happy,


When she gets terribly angry,


Over a petty matter,


My heart does not shatter!


 

Since I know it well,


I can confidently tell,


She loves me madly,


That is why she gets angry!


 

Hence I take her fury simply,

 

As I love her unconditionally!

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tags:

Counseling

Mommy, Jessie tried to attack me with a weed eater
My sister tried to stab me.
It’s a nightmare Feeder. I was only 4.
Mommy are we poor? You lied. Daddies not a woman beater

Hotshot was my favorite transformer
Armada. Got dreaming I could be a performer
Playing with my pets and throwing fits.
I was 5 when my dad showed me a girl and her tits

Cinnamon, Corey, Charlie you will all be missed
A child with his mind tumbled. He was troubled.
“Baby, you’re so spoiled”
A couple years went by and my brother left the house,

I started to pounce. Like a cat. What happened to my cats.
Knowing my step dad they were taken out and smashed with a bat
til they felt pain or were slain.
Hiding under the mat I sat.

A fucking shame and my mom divorced my father.
Fucking lame. You don’t understand me.
Fuck off. Ill never be the same.
Said I was Autistic. But you misdiagnosed!

Stop trying to pass the blame
Stop trying to pretend you’re optimistic.
I don’t need a psychiatrist looking at all my problems.
Only I can solve them.

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Parsimonious

Folder: 
Personal

"So hot headed,

but heavy is the hand

that is kept from raising.

Which,

 

being how soft

the surface below 

it would fall upon,

it is al and well

 

no hand was raised,

indeed,

but there is no praise 

for such common sense.

 

Uncommon men

and situations

make for comics 

and comical accusations,

 

life's a joke

so sometimes I laugh at it,

but this time around

I keep frowning.

 

So here it is,

laid on the table

the meal made,

with much forethought.

 

And in the end,

all it causes is heat,

feet stomping,

no use for a cooler,

 

all around fire is sprayed

and it keeps trying

to catch, 

skin not lit.

 

Whatever the reason,

be it power or to tower above,

stepping in increases rage,

decreases range.

 

Within striking distance,

add more fuel to the fire

burning deep inside,

taught to never lay a finger

 

on the fairer sex,

but the moment tests all control,

reveal, resist,

total consequence in the rearview.

 

SLew of words,

which hold meaning

spoken out of love or anger,

babble dipping into ears

 

is all tuned out;

been inside my head for hours

already.

So you go,

 

but not before raising your own hand,

no pain felt with the blow,

no weight to it.

But damned if the point isn't realized,

 

asked to leave 

only to come once I'm gone,

leaving my abode vandalized.

How dissapointing.

 

An anger so roasting

kept cool with a conversation

with a friend, 

longboarder, car hoarder,

 

keeps one in check

before diving into a bitter 

back-and-forth.

The bitter look

 

thrown with an intense glare

with one more pass,

feeling sick to the stomach,

but if one wants,

 

just ask.

I can be more specific.

Penurious of kindness,

parsimonious of respect."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Parsimonious, not to insult anyone's intelligence, is to be stingy; to be witholding (usually of money). Something that you have, but decide not to give, or spend, or show. Being parsimonious is a common reaction to many a great painful events in our lives. But maybe it shouldn't be. For once.

Picked to Pieces

Folder: 
Dark

The coating underneath

Eats away at surface cracks

You peel layers of me

As if I'm scabby flesh 

 

We work on me

Like we're dissecting the abnormal

Pushing and pulling 

Vulnerability grows

 

Haunting trails of voices

Linger in the open world

Soon growing hands

Upon my neck to grasp

 

Eyes too tired to be vibrant 

You've given me a sorrowful glow

Dark truths, a halo for my head

Misery flaunts an awful tone

Shot in The Dark

I took a shot in the dark

And Missed

But next time I'm gonna learn my lesson,

Next time I'm gonna 

Turn the light on,

And then shoot you in the face.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Not fully completed yet.

Lurking

I liked us,

We always had each others back,

I can remember looking at your smile

Thinking I could see it carrying on for miles into some world of bliss,

Your little brother would look at you,

As if having more knowledge of that rich, expansive kindess,

Of what I assumed was at your core,

 

Now I know,

There is a demon who dwells inside of you,

I hear its stomps and roars,

Its shackles whipping and bending at its will,

Putting cracks in what I once thought,

Was a friendship sturdy as marble,

I feel the screams of your wrath,

I'm shocked how low they moaned,

When you created so many elegant distractions,

But now I see what lives in you,

And I fear it waits for me,

To throw my bones with all the rest,

Of the sorry fools that ever bought your act.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I know I haven't posted in a while but a certain person has managed to make me so incredibly irritated that I am back to writing. Hope to have a few more posted by the end of the week. Enjoy!

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Instruments of the Passion

She is my queen and I hers,

yet I feel pricked by this thorny crown I so desperately longed for. 

The Field

Torrents of hazy clouds begin to block out my happiness as I sit waiting for my mind to release me from my perpetual imprisonment from these chains of broken people and run down lies I tell myself to keep aloft in these dark days. As I look around, bare gnarled trees flex their fingers and are the only witnesses to this hell that I have incarcerated myself within. The sky goes darker as I find nothing within me to brighten the few stable thoughts that I have recycled too many times. My affection for the desire to breathe and take my revenge cements the chains and acts to drive the few things around me that have not already made their escape from my black hole of cycled misery. The grass goes black and the ground dries to a bone like state as I scream to stab my torturers.

 

The field is dead and I am its killer, so filled with loathing that my acidic personality caused it to shrivel and become a lifeless waste where even the worms of self pity and vultures of depression dare not tread in fear of dying due to the lack of prey: My happiness long since dried up and the few ideas of self righteousness consumed by my horrible self. I try to unclench my fist but as I do so, my bones break and cease to be flexible. I shriek in an effort to portray that I care about this, but I don't.

I know I don't.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

First Poem! Hope you enjoy this, just want to know peoples opinions on this type of writing :)

In The Corner

"Sorry to hear about your loss"'s

Are wooden and rigid

Templates learnt and regurgitated

Out of the mouths of puppets.

 

There are the hard-eyed portraits

On the wall with nothing

To say. There are caricatures

Who never cease to stop.

 

"Are you okay?" trickles out

Of the mouths of the mindless.

Questions back me into corners and

I have no choice but to nod my head.

 

The false testimony that is "yes"

Is as wooden and rigid as the rest.

There are too many timber slabs

Around me - I want to burn them all.

 

Let me set fire to your words

Before you bother to let them out.

I am sincerely sorry that I have

A loss for you to be so sorry about.

 

May the match put an end

To your stilted statements and constant

Questions. Unless in that corner,

I can find my grandmother again.

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I lost my grandmother recently, and it was my first experience of death in the family - an experience I was old enough to understand, for once, anyway. People I don't know as well have paid me their respects, people I know very well have said nothing at all. It's a very confusing and frustrating time for me, as I'm not quite sure of how I'm feeling or how to take people or how to do anything anymore. My first instinct, after being with my family, was to write. This was what came.

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