As I grow, my hatred for this world also grows,
Far larger than any monster I've encountered in my lifetime.
My hatred is pity, and build up of the shadows of all that disappointed me, disrespected me, and caused me to feel grief for situations I never wanted to cry about.
I am the biggest hater, and it is such a pity.
I've learned to only love certain small part of the world.
The world is said to be the feminine, yet dominated by mankind, just like how I will be no matter the dilemma.
Weirdly enough, my hatred is a burning fire.
A fire that gives third degree burns, and lights houses on fire, my own house, my sense of home.
And I can't forget about my comfort, to which always seems to be shakeable, my anger is a burning fire, it has become my purpose.
Though feared, maybe, just maybe, my anger is a source of heat, and I won't complain if you feel the coldness of the world, and I'll let you feel my heat, my anger, and maybe that'll keep you alive too, and I can be burning, and when spring comes where I'm no longer needed as I might cause havoc in your fruitful garden,
I'll be put away, just as easily.
And then my ashes, the smell of my sandalwood will remain, and you'd be reminded that though I cast a large shadow,
I never meant to cause a wildfire.
[March 22, 2023]
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Author:
Bianitalisa (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 22nd, 2025 11:42
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: Paul Bell
Offline)
Comments3
Thoughtful and reflective this poem speaks in poetic images. Lovely
A little flicker, a little flame, It's all the same, burn, burn.
Can feel your anger through the poem. As a man, i'll keep out of your way. lol
Like General Zhao in ATLA, no control and you'll burn your own life down. Just don't get lost in the fog of lost souls like he did.
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