Some time ago, something happened to me and broke me completely,

shredding me into little pieces and leaving ragged holes inside.

I won’t tell you exactly what that was and who caused it,

because I think that is the irrelevant fact in this equation.

So I will just sum it up for you and maybe you’ll understand.

Because what is necessary here is the story itself. What happened to me, was surprising and unexpected and I felt that I didn’t expect such an outcome, the ground opening beneath me and swallowing me up.

Again, that’s how I felt that day. A dark Sunday turning to a Monday,

filled with tears that overflowed me and threaten to sink me whole.

Some would ask... Why the tears? Why the sorrow?

And all I would have to say would be:

A heart can break in so many ways.

No romance really necessary if a friend breaks your trust and disappears... but that wasn’t even it if I had to think about it twice. Just the sudden aspect of it all. I wasn’t ready for such an outcome, I didn’t have time to prepare. Just a blow in the guts and a goodbye. All in pleasant and in such a cultural way. One would say, no one was to blame. Funny though it hurt just the same.

The interesting part was what occurred at the same time. In a different place in the world, but the same place. Here on Prose. One friend wandered away from me, for the reason only known to that person alone. Though I might have a clue or a two. People don’t like when you break their walls and see too much. From one side you see more beauty and deeper meaning. From the other side, lies may fall out without warning. Small ones to be honest but with incredible meaning to the one who bears them... for me these lies didn’t mean much. Don’t we all try to look better in eyes of others? Don’t we all do that at one point in our lives?

I will let you answer that question on your own. You know the best.

But let me get back to this little story. When I was in a dark place, or even a little before, I found a different, amazing soul. We got talking and found out that we share similar broken parts. Similar pains and fears. I was breaking and sinking in my tears... and so was this little soul. Then we got to talk some more. It instantly clicked, our words matching up. Through time and healing words we gave each other the support that was needed to face the world as it left us. We helped each other to make it through.

A silver lining over a dark moon.

***

She was a flower girl in a flower shop. I saw her when I was going east on 29th street. She stood there in the window. She was setting up. It was a celebration of some kind. And she was getting ready for it. I don’t remember what they were celebrating but I went in anyways. It was a mothers day celebration but I hadn’t talked to my mother in years. 

Still the idea of flowers was nice. Maybe I could buy some and take them home to my little one bedroom apartment where they might sit near the sun and grow during summertime’s. I had seen the girl in the window but there was no one at the counter. I had hoped I walked into the right place. “Hello?” I asked and dinged the bell. Ding, ding, ding!

“Does anyone even work here?” I asked out loud. A woman came to the counter from behind me. Probably the same woman from behind the window. “I’m working here while the owner is away.”She said. “What can I help you with?” “Well I need some flowers, something nice. Carnations or Daises. Maybe even Roses.” “Are you having a special event?” She asked.

“I suppose so, it’s my mothers birthday.” I told her. “Well that’s nice of you! You’re a good son. I wish that my kids will buy flowers for me one day when they’re older.” She said. “It’s a yearly thing it seems, I used to never do it. I was too lazy. Now I do it every year and every mothers day.” I replied. “It’s coming up you know.” “I know.”

I wasn’t sure of the amount or size of the flowers that I would get but I kept changing it every year just so she would have something new and different.” “Well i’m sure whatever you pick she’ll love them just the same.” “Well I can’t say she’s been dissapointed so far. I’ll take a bouquet, something with a bit of everything. Can you do it?” I had asked.

“I’m sure it wouldn’t be a problem. She told me. I hoped it wouldn’t take long, I was on a schedule. One I intended to keep. You could hear rustling from the back. Everything was being prepared and wrapped up, just how I wanted it and have always prepared it. She came back with a large bouquet wrapped in thinly made paper, enough to cover but not to protect.

“Here you are, a blended bouquet. Just how you wanted.” She said. I had taken the bouquet from her and thanked her after I paid. I left the shop and headed out. I walked for a while and kept walking a bit more. Home was the opposite way. I would go there later.

Right now I had somewhere to be. The bouquet was nice, it was something different. The forecast was rain and quite a bit of it, I could already see it coming. At first a little as the clouds grew dark and eventually more would be on the way. 

As it began to rain more and more I pulled up the collar of my jacket around my neck. I wanted to stay warm and the rain didn’t bother me anyways. The flowers could use some water.

The further I walked the more I was away from town but still here. The cemetery was in it’s own little plot, they replaced all the old apartments and shops where the rent was too high and had to sell but then nobody bought them and so they were torn down.

It was a majestic scene, like in a romantic film, rain on a dark day that was once sunny where the heart felt emotion really showed itself. The gates were open and I walked in. Going past row after row. She was there waiting on me, we had set a time and a day. I’d visit every week I told her.

Flowers always died and were removed but I told them she was special and so her flowers were always left where I put them, I added more and placed the bouquet in the middle, front and center. “Happy Birthday” I told her and there I stayed for hours, just talking.

I’m here, sweetheart.

I know, sweetheart.

It’s okay. You’re okay.

I love you, baby brother,

love you more than words can say.

...

#challenge

#pain

#edited

The concept that surrounds reasons for having a favorite toy is an interesting one. The toys that people, normally young children, would call their favorite would normally not be because of what the toy does for the child physically, but what it does for the child emotionally. For example, you may have a favorite teddy bear and that teddy bear is your favorite because your military dad had it delivered as a Christmas present from Afghanistan, or something along those lines.

Because the “Favorite Toy” would be an object that does something for me emotionally, rather than physically, I would pick something of emotional significance. Some people had teddy bears, some had stuffed penguins, some had giant fluffy pillows named Mr. Fluffy, I had nothing but the long barreled, sleek, shell loaded instrument of destruction I kept in my closet. Just after the day father taught me how to use it, I kept it with me until that selfish bastard shot himself with it. I haven’t done anything with it in almost a week, but I feel like hunting today.

The instrument, for me, is a sign of rebirth. They help me fix the world in a way that others can’t. Every four seconds, a person dies from starvation because the world does not have enough food to support life for its people. I help the world by slowly balancing out the scale, making less human life. I do what I do to save the world, not hurt it, but some days I feel like I bring people too much pain for their own good. But, if this is what it takes, then this is what I’m going to do.

I step out of my house, quickly making sure it wasn’t noticeable in my backpack. I decide to go hunting downtown today, maybe visit the art museum down there. I step onto the subway train car, feeling the carpeted floor moving away from home, leaving it behind.

I reach my stop, and start climbing the stairs and instantly mark a random target. I reach the man, grabbing his hand and asking him if he’d seen my mother, she’d only been walking here a few minutes ago, just barely meeting his gaze as I walk away. I catch myself staring straight into his cold silver eyes. Silver. It’s been almost ten years since I’ve seen eyes like those… my father was the only one who I have ever seen with eyes that same color of shimmering gray. I let go, only to find the man still staring straight at me, his eyes intensely following my movements, almost as if he’s known me his entire life.

I walk into the nearest abandoned building, making sure the man is still in tow while I continue to pretend to just be a helpless lost girl in a big city. I pull out the instrument, and load the shells into the barrel, all the while making sure not to make noise, while at the same time hiding just behind a wall in a back room. I walk out and into the main room just as he walks in, and I close the barrel back into the wooden side of the weapon, feeling nothing but envy as I stare into his cold silver eyes and pull the trigger. I love hunting.

As of course you may know, leaving a body out in the open is never a good choice. As soon as I start moving him, taking him into the basement where I will most likely cement him straight into the ground he was born on, a wallet falls out of the man’s pocket. I open it, hoping to find a reward for my troubles, but only instead find a picture of a little girl. That little girl is me, at 8 years old.

I’ve missed those silver eyes for so long.

my Anger

is like an anchor

a torporous lump

of coal...

too damp and old

to glow

it doesn’t burn

like an ember

or scald as

a geyser...

it’s dull, heavy

and dark

stains like soot

and stinks of 

it too...

it’s directed at

You the eternal

Mystery, the Word,

the Good, the What

and How the-

the why me...

that swallows all

in self pity

and tethers 

spirits into its

hypocrisy...

my Anger

is an angler

hanging me

in a waterless

airless sea...

in miscues of

false steps and

of grudgery

precluding our

happiness...

#anger #challenge #freeverse

Found me raised

in the Antebellum South

born an academically gifted

whip smart, (and any other

apropos) above average adage

smart son with a

healthy dose of Melanin and Melania

donned and trump petted

asper a proud black is beautiful, sans ebony badge,

whereat me instrumental mama and pop

acquired grudging cunning

insinuation to cadge

teaching material convincingly

claiming lofty aim

intent to instruct slave master's children

all to eager to accept blame,

when any vicious rumor got afoot with "FAKE" claim

that lessons did

critique and declaim antithetical

quasi Aryan racial superior

viewpoints (preceding Adolf Hitler

by about a century),

knowingly could enflame

status quo, which feigned

"playing dumb" duh -

faux blockhead frame

(wha ya mean massa) game

at very bedrock foundation

pre politically correct cursor meme

lee complex edifice

slave owning name

acutely aware intent esse chew

wing such societally

radical implications, to due

tee fully fortuitously, gradually,

and hopefully, un glue,

(especially via schooling impressionable

young African American

or other ebony hue

shaded skin with Jew

whoosh propositions of equality)

righteous precepts nullifying lou

duck criss bastardizing American moo

nuff phish witch hunts (sea thing),

a gimcrackery, mockery,

and travesty poo

poo wing credo, ethos,

highlights, et cetera sow

wing equality, harmony, and liberty in tow.