a boy i used to stare and blush at
jokingly said to me that
there was a time and place for anger
for some reason it stuck with me
i muttered it to myself when my sister
irritated me— deep breaths
reminded me of her innocence;
i repeated it a few times when my
mother's heedless words stung
be kind to her, she means well
was it out of fervour or spite
that i sought to rekindle flames
once extinguished by her harsh tongue?
i wanted to reclaim what thrilled me
does it offer relief?
i think so.
did i find the time and place for anger?
never since my helper taught me to control
my temper: she also meant well, bless her
though it pained me to sacrifice my dignity
for a transient truce
at some point i figured it was the only way
i divulged the power of "sorry", meant it
every time i said it, because to me
the chance of offence was offence itself.
but now at 16, i'm growing wearisome
from biding in the waiting room for
a mother's apology, and mourning,
pining for the obnoxious silence that
defiantly demanded to be heard.
the pique has had nowhere to go
she's been running in circles, therefore
i fear for the person i'll become
when i reach that time and place:
would i let it flare and let it die?
i fear for the future lovers—
would it die?
a pretty boy once said
"there is a time and place for anger"
so when will it come?
my affections for him are long lost
and so is my patience.
YOU ARE READING
her musings - poetry
Poesíaa collection of poems i write to understand myself more and relief my ever-evolving emotions on love, loss, yearning, my passions and my connections with other humans.
