an angry man once lived in a play house,
pouring anger like rain, an angry man
taught me how to express myself,
how to define me—
carefree, more or less free.
drenched in the rain,
an angry man is wretched.
steals innocence in a cherished child,
an angry man showed how to love.
he left me bruised
and called it love.
he abuses the devil whispering,
and called it divine
he abuses the dandelion whimpering,
and called it wine.
I was left to see how sad the angry man looked,
and it made me angry, how I somehow wasn't
looking right
the angry man wasn't full of anger,
it was much more than that.
he was consumed by sadness that it hardened like magma,
waiting for eruption,
corrupting
my mind…
the angry man
now lives inside my mind…
he keeps whispering devilish abuse,
keeps whimpering like a dandelion bush.
pouring rain wasn't meant to be a metaphor for anger,
but I wasn't sure why I couldn't say he was blue.
I'm
not
sure why I can't say I'm an angry man
even though I'm
through
YOU ARE READING
Dazed Off
PoetrySee what the young poet wrote in her old journals at only the age of twelve, and how her mental state progressively gets worse at age fifteen:) Collection of poems mostly about God, family, love, and hate to oneself. • most impressive ranking: #6 in...
