Failure grasps every scribble
As poetry seems unable to capture

(My apologies).

Had words inscribed my affinity
My utmost obsession with your sincerity
(Or maybe with your profanity?)
The world would have breathed

For us.

The sea would have stirred for us.
The trees would have died for us.

And I would have written why
The universe understood
Its purpose
When our hearts caught—unable to let go
(That, however, seemed cliché.)

Paragraphs would have described how
My unshakeable devotion
To the very essence of you

Not because it was less
But because it was laced with my humanity.
And imperfection.

I hear your smile in my syllables
As semantics cease explaining.

I remember your hands around my eyes.

I live only through those seconds of promised forever
When every vow that was impossibly unspoken.
(Every echoed beat)
Fabricated us.

So I wrote you this unpoem.
Manifested through hours of word spinning
Isolated phrases and rhythmic inability.
While electricity spread through my fingers
And black magic—in my veins.

I wrote you letters that spell, form, incarcerate
The (evidently) ineffable thought of you.


It reminds you of the viable worth their dismissals chipped away.

I’m not very good at being mad at people.
If nothing else, this is what I’ve learned this week.

Someone I once knew has been mad at me for over six months.

After my 5 days of anger, I’ve come to revere his steadfast ability to maintain the same level of fury for so long.

My anger doesn’t turn into power. A breed of revenge waiting for the opportune moment to show the source how much they deserve to be momentarily hated.

My anger presents itself in heartbreak.

And every moment it goes untamed. Every moment that follows the ill-attempted apology that sounded half-breathed on one hand and disgustingly self-obsessed on the other. Every moment where I slowly realize nothing remedial awaits.

My heart breaks a little more.

My Gram (a very smart lady) would probably tell me this is why anger is pointless. It’s drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.

And although I know how badly I do anger, I realized the importance of this awful feeling.

On a normal day, for a normal week. One when life doesn’t fall in on every side. When you don’t wake up tired each morning, have a bad hair day that won’t dissipate, knock everything over in the grocery store when you really just can’t take it anymore, get tossed aside for a fun experiment, desperately fail at your job.

On a normal day, I don’t hold anger. I get mad, I talk about it, the other person apologizes, and I let it go.

Which. Don’t get me wrong. This is a good practice for 90% of the issues that come up in the world. You spilled my coffee. You disregarded a comment I made. You didn’t even offer to pay. You forgot to tell me you weren’t coming to visit me and instead are going to see your boyfriend.

These are perfect situations to let anger go. Get the apology and move on.

I realized this week however. That there are times when anger has its place. It may eat you alive. But it provides acknowledgment that forgiveandforget lacks.

It validates your much deserved feelings. If by no one else but yourself.

When someone openly disregards you, your emotions, your thoughts, your friendship, your worth. Repeatedly. It’s a disservice to dismiss your anger.

People (I don’t know which ones) say that the hard step is forgiveness. But for me, that’s the easiest. I want to forgive so I don’t have to live with the pain of indignation. Even for a moment. The burn that emerges when you realize your feelings fell on deaf ears.

If nothing else, allowing yourself to be angry provides the recognition you had hoped the other person was going to supply.

It reminds you of the viable worth their dismissals chipped away.

I haven’t held anger toward someone in almost 5 years. In that time, I changed my name. I deleted their numbers. I erased their faces from my memory. And on the rare occasion when I think of that anger, I know it never completely extinguished.

And maybe this is okay.

I learned this week how terrible I am at being mad. Every moment I can’t look them in the face, I can hear my heart shattering.

But each piece that falls rejects the notion that the anger isn’t deserved.