I am participating in a “52 Week Project”.  This is an art challenge that’s found in all sorts of art mediums, but in my particular case, we’re a group of people on Facebook who each week are given a word generated by an “automatic word generator” and each week we have to create something with that word.  It can be a photograph, a painting, a poem, a story.  Whatever.  This week was Week 10, and Week 10’s word was “poison”.  Some weeks, it takes me a few days to be inspired by the word, but when the word “poison” showed up on my screen (I got to auto-generate the word this week) the first thing that popped into my head was “anger”.

Anger is poison.  Anger is the most insidious kind of poison, it kills our spirit from the inside.  It stops us from feeling.  It stops us from being who we’re meant to be.  When a person is filled with anger, nothing else can live in that space.  Anger does not allow love to share a breath, nor does it let light into our souls.

I lived with anger for many years.  It permeated every part of my being. It blinded me to the beauty of what was right in front of me.  It kept me from being who, at some primordial level, I knew myself to be.  For years, I pretended to be the person I wanted to be, but I wasn’t.  Instead, I was a shell being fueled by anger.

The anger in my heart was sown sometime in my childhood.  I imagine that it’s part of the reason why I have so few memories of anything.  Swathes of emptiness fill my mind when I try to recall what my early years were like, or my tweens, or my teens or my twenties. I haven’t quite decided if my lack of memory is tied into being angry, of if my anger developed due to lack of memories.  Maybe my brain is defective.  In any case, I still have issues with memory, but they’re different now.  Now, I retain memories of things that I do, people I do them with.  I recall so much of my every day life with Paul and with friends, but I still have a problem with things like movies or books.  I can watch a movie, love it, and then a few months later watch it again and have hardly (if any) recollection of having seen it the first time.  Same thing with books.  I can remember enjoying a book, but when it comes down to remembering any specifics, my brain is blank.  In a way, it’s a bit of a blessing because I get to enjoy things for the first time, numerous times.  That’s not all bad, but it is a tad disconcerting.

That was a bit of an aside; but I’m glad I wrote it down, because I may need to come back to this sometime.

Back to poison.

I drew the word “poison” which immediately made me think of “anger” and I immediately knew that I wanted to write something.  Something that reflected the two halves of my life; the first half, which was dark and dreary, and the second half, which I am living now which is filled with light and love.

This is what I wrote:


You coursed through my veins

A molten river



You whispered, softly, surely

A dull roar



You gripped my soul

An iron fist



You held on



I fought. I screamed. I pushed. I tore. I raged.

I won

You lost

Banished from my being

I found peace

You course through my veins

A swift stream



You laughed, loudly, sweetly

A tender word



You embraced my heart

A seraph’s kiss



The cure



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