lots of negative weather forecasts

lately but

the park was still full

He folded the newspaper and

looked to the next

bench where some old man was begging

his caretakers to take him

home

He cried that his hemorrhoids

were killing him

Far into the distance children

were screaming

the kind of screams that make it difficult

to tell whether they're having

fun or being slaughtered

On the front page of the paper

there was some

article about a recent murder. Some

monster stabbed a kid to death

in a park much like

this one

and everybody was

in uproar

And he fished into his pocket for

a cigarette

and then for the lighter

and smiled at their concerns. It was the

smile of someone who got away

with murder and he stretched it because he'd

gotten away with murder

Many years ago

Far abroad

Into the enemy country

There was a kid much like the one described

in the news article

and the little shit tried to sneak

past their camp and make a delivery

to the enemy

Sure the enemy were just

using him

as they used others

but as luck would have it

he got caught

and the soldiers were mad at him

The kid probably apologized but no one

could understand his language

so they gutted him

solely for the purpose of releasing anger

and frustration

It didn't work

And the memory was still spinning around

in their heads. At least in

those heads that survived

But only one of them

could smile at it

***

INSTAGRAM:

https://www.instagram.com/bogdan_1_dragos/

AUDIO READING HERE:

https://soundcloud.com/user-937736610/solely-to-release-anger

You shouldn't follow me because my presence is very unpredictable. I am only now showing up here after a three year absence. Having said that, I enjoy connecting with people on here and having chats in the comment sections. I have always found this site a welcoming space to express oneself, be that creative writing or political opinion. So, go on and follow me and see what happens!

Lost the day you knew your name

conformed to gender,

culture, shame.

Likes, beliefs are they your own,

or seeds of thought from

parents sown.

Endless want, how it requires

a stern dictator

called desire.

Freedom elusive?

Conclusive.

Five little fingers laid out on a table

Two are for you, three are for me. Maybe the other hand could do us some good,

Sprinkle on pepper and sesame.

You can have one, but you must save the other

Earth’s hungriest men are known only for hunger.

—

Mealtime with my family; my grandparents have gotten older, so they tend to eat dinner earlier and earlier. This night, dinner’s at five o’clock sharp, and though I’d rather wait a while longer for dinner, I decide I can’t object to their desired schedule. I have to be courteous while I’m around them, mother told me, and I’ve done well understanding and keeping with that rule.

Grandma’s been fine through the past week. I saw her out in the garden when I arrived, and she showed me the new flowers and plants she’d gotten around to growing all along the property. She told me she had gotten into a bit of a tulip craze (mentioning more than once that her being Dutch must have something to do with it) and had gone wild for squash and tomato plants, of which she had multiples. The garden had been laid out sprawling across the entire perimeter of their lawn, and mixed into those top interests of hers were other flowers she had gotten into caring for. She toured me around the lawn in a proud manner that lead me to only be able to congratulate her accomplishments and tell her that I was proud of all she had done. She seemed overjoyed to show it all off to me.

Grandpa, sadly, remained rather worse for wear. From the moment I walked inside up until now, he’s been in bed. He’ll get up occasionally but only really for the bathroom, for a meal, and then back to bed. Grandma told me that he moved around much more than usual last Friday when he walked to the shed and fixed up its busted doorknob. I couldn’t help but realize that even an activity such as that required almost minimal effort; grandpa’s scaring me, and I know he doesn’t mean to but his condition’s gotten much worse than assumed. I hope he’ll be okay. I miss when he would take me fishing and out about the town to gas stations and to lots where he’d make money for tree branches he’d send in. He’s got that heart still, I know that much, but his physicality, that’s where it hurts most.

Every time I visit their house, it seems to grow smaller. I’m sure this has to do with the fact that I’ve gotten older and taller, but it’s still so strange being here and seeing all the furniture. The space is so limited in comparison to how I remembered the place. When I could run around and climb up these metal poles they have in the basement and wander up to the attic without even having to duck my head down. I truly must have grown, must’ve grown a lot. Of course, that’s what grandma told me when she saw me, before showing me around the garden. The second thing she asked, of course, was about my left arm.

“My, my, what happened to your arm?”

For the past four months, my left arm’s been placed in a sort of cast, a cast specifically tailored to me. Of course, it’s embarrassing to talk about and even to think about, so I had them get me a cast I could wear so I wouldn’t have to be seen out in public without a hand, even after healing. And obviously, I hadn’t thought to tell my grandparents. I couldn’t have them know about it; grandma would probably make fun of me or something.

“I fractured my hand playing a game at school,” I lied to her. “I have to be in this cast for a couple of months while it heals.”

“Oh my, that’s awful,” she responded with some tone of disgust. “How long ago did it break?”

“A few weeks ago; it hasn’t been very long.”

“I see,” she said. And then suddenly, “May I see it?”

A thousand thoughts ran through my mind, most thought-provoking of all, what do hospitals do with amputated limbs like that? Do they just throw them away immediately, or..? But I was also completely confused about her wanting to see and told her that my hand would be that much better kept in the cast and not moved around too much. She seemed content with the answer and didn’t bring it up anymore. Instead, she turned to plants and said:

“Look what I’ve done!”

I’ll tell you exactly why you shouldn’t follow me.

I don’t actually know where I'm going

I wouldn't have a notion of how to communicate

to anyone other than my arrogance

that I am so lost, I make the Pole star doubt it knows where it is.

Besides I’m a useless navigator

I have a broken satellite connection

un-repaired for more than short span of memory.

And, if you are following me, I might think you are some authority in pursuit of non-payment of something. so please have a whit and steer well clear of anywhere I might be going.

I don't stick to any sort of a schedule, I write when I want to. That way, I don't force out anything that would or could be better. You get exactly what you click on.

That being said, I'm rather lazy. I try to post more, but I get crazy writer's block and can't continue. I've got college going on and a job and my fingers need a break after a while. I have plenty of posts, but only a handful of new ideas.

If you follow me, you give me a reason to keep going. I hope to one day make it big. I remember all my followers. When that day comes, you'll be remembered and revered.

First off, a warm welcome to you.

Second, there will be dumping of my personal, sad shit. If you can relate, then give it a read. I've heard people feel less lonely, and, as people, I can say it works pretty nicely.

If I had to describe my style I would say... fairytale.

To me the little details are deathly important.

To me, so much can go unsaid in a single glance and love?

L-O-V-E is a beautiful addicting blight, bringing out the darkest and the brightest all at once. Too big for the body to handle. (Read my Danny Phantom book-- trust me, you'll know which).

So yeah, if you're thing is alluring, sparkly magic made all the more enchanting by raw humanity then hit me up.

The name is Dan.

Dan Phantom.

"In accordance with Henry Edward, angry people are "slaves to themselves""

I am angry. I hold it in my throat -- sometimes it escapes at the wrong times, earning me a weird look, or "your personality is so different from how you dress."

because I am sweet! and kind! I am gentle! I am lovely! I am 5 feet tall and I have the tiniest hands and I tremble when I lift a 2 pound weight. But after the lingering fear passes, I feel rage. I feel like, yeah, today is the day that I snap.

It never is. The day that I snap, I mean. I walk away and usually wish that I could extract my rage and just feel the sadness I'm hiding from. I've been feeling it recently, honestly. I'm sad that I feel so angry. I'm sad that I forgot

what it means to be a good person. I spend so much time thinking about people I don't like. I concoct fruitless revenge schemes, that exist mostly for my best friend to laugh at. I can't stop yelling when I'm behind the wheel.

The thing is, though, that I love so deeply it makes me cry most of the time. One of my oldest friends was just the lead in our school play, and I teared up all throughout the bows. She was the happiest I've ever seen her in a long time. I'd give a ride to anyone who asked. I'd bring soup for anyone who was sick. What do I do with that?

How can I be so angry at the world and yet want to cup all my friends' hearts in my hands like little birds? How can I lust for a fight, yet simply ache to lie down in someone's arms? I want to let down my guard. But I'm too scared to. I'm too angry to.

I cannot even begin to describe the many reasons why you should not follow me. But I will do so anyway. You see, I am full of ideas, and I'm always coming up with new ways to convey them! Do you really want to follow someone who has ideas? Didn't think so. Secondly, I'm constantly learning! I know what you're thinking. Learning? What is this, school? What kind of total loser wants to learn? Exactly. This is why you definitely shouldn't (wink wink) follow me! You'd totally hate it.