Buddha (may or may noy have-its controversial) once said, “Holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.”  I am a strong believer in this statement.  For as long as I can remember, I have never been able to hold a grudge.  The longest timeframe that I have ever been upset with a person was twenty hours.  I counted back the hours because at the time, I realized that the anger was not worth it.  Being angered by people’s thoughts and actions is a frustrating thing, and in my opinion is not worth any of the stress. Anger is a poison to the body, and causes more stress and pain to yourself than to the person you are upset with.  As a relatively positive person, I have managed to stay as happy and grateful as I can no matter the circumstance. However, I was not always this way.
As a toddler I would get easily frustrated with the smallest things. When I would get upset I would begin having labored breaths, and my chest would tighten.  Sweat would begin beading down my face, and my little fists would contract and expand periodically.  The smallest things could set me off, such as not being able to listen to my own cassettes in the car on the way home from church, or rainy days when I would want to play outside.  Bed times and naps made me want to pull my hair out.  Controlled and healthy snack alternatives would make me zip my lips tight and had me throwing away the imaginary key to the lock that secured my lips against the unnaturally orange carrots.
On a different note, my grandfather on my mothers’ side was my babysitter/partner in crime/best friend as a child and he could bake the best sugar cookies on the planet.  I kid you not.  I always loved having them, and whenever I spent the day with my grandfather, we had to bake sugar cookies.  Days spent with him were always good days, and I loved listening to his stories he would make up about grand princesses and strong princes in far off lands.  My grandfather had been diagnosed with a severe form of diabetes and had several heart attacks and seizures as I was a child, and he was told to stay away from all unhealthy snacks and things with high sugary content.  My mother soon turned into a mother bear and would carefully watch over my grandfathers’ diet, because she was frightened she would lose her father.  As a child, I did not understand their conversations fully and never realized that my grandfather stopped baking and eating snacks because he was not allowed to eat these things.  I would throw the biggest tantrums for his cookies, and generally he would give into my constant bickering and give in to his cravings for sugar.  We would bake, and in the end my mother was always upset with my grandfather for eating sugar, and I was told that sugar was bad for Poppy (that was my nickname for him).  I did not understand how sugar could be bad at that age, because it tasted so good.  I constantly craved the way that the cookies practically melted in my mouth after being taken out of the oven.  I did not mind a temporarily scorched tongue if it meant getting my grubby hands onto those cookies as soon as I could.
One Sunday evening, Mommy and Daddy had a church meeting to attend to after the main service, so Poppy was in charge of me for the evening.  He took me home, and was asked to take care of me for the day.  I begged, screamed, twisted, and shouted for the heavenly cookies that I had not had in what seemed like ages to my childish mind, but Poppy did not budge.  “The answer was, is, and will forever remain to be no, pumpkin.” He calmly spoke to me. I could not wrap my mind around the fact that my Poppy had said no to the cookies.  I remember my chest beginning to feel tight, the labored breathing, and the light headedness that came afterwards as if it was yesterday.  Hot tears streamed down my chubby face, my bottom chin popped out, and my lower lip accentuated until I had a full on pout formed.  ‘No’ just was not in my vocabulary, at least not for that day.  I became so upset with my Poppy and my chest began to hurt so badly that I could not bear to see his face any longer.  I shouted at the top of my lungs, “I HATE YOU!”  I ran up my stairs and locked myself in my room for the remainder of the day and did not bother to come out until the next morning. That next morning my mom received a phone call at 7 AM.  My poppy had gotten a heart attack at about 6:20 that morning and was pronounced dead at the hospital at 6:54 AM.  Help was not reached in time to heal him.
The last thing I said to my poppy was that I hated him.  I will always remember that.  The fury I felt over something as trivial as cookies makes me so frustrated with myself, because in the end I only upset myself more.  Being angry with people does not hurt them nearly as much as it hurts you.  People are not always out looking for intentional ways to upset you, and in fact most humans nowadays only seek acceptance from others.  Whenever I am upset with someone, I always try and look through their eyes to see where they are coming from and what made them do such a thing to upset me.  The girl who called me a mean name? She had been abused at home and the only way she could uplift herself was by putting others down.  The boy who did not like me in the seventh grade?  His mother walked out on him as a child, and he has not trusted women since.  People constantly think that the only opinion that is right is their own, and if someone upsets them that person should disappear forever and feel incredibly horrible about upsetting you.  In reality, we should try to realize why they are thinking the way that they do.  Being upset with a person does you no good.  Forgiveness is always the answer, because you may not realize it at the time, but people generally get upset over the most trivial things that they will not remember anything about twenty years from now.  The anger you feel for a person is not nearly as strong as the anger they had for you when they did whatever it is they did to upset you.  
Anger poisons your body and never makes the other person feel any less sympathetic about what they did.  It only makes you worry more about the past things that you can do nothing about.   “Holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.”  It has been twelve years since my Poppy passed away, and no matter who actually said it, I am still a strong believer in that statement.

I could only stare,
watching him gurgle up
his own discharge,
and laugh.

I laughed until the sound became so loud
as to solidify the air.

He rose from his body
and watched his mangled remains laid limply
against the tabletop

before I gathered him in my arms,
cradling him lovingly
before I cast him down.

Like a vase he burst into tiny fractures dissipating like dust in darkness.

“Death becomes you.”

“Please…P-Please.”
She whimpered against my neck
as I pressed it against her lips.
“What my love, what is it I can give you?”
My control was waning
as I unbuttoned her shirt,
exposing her ******* to the chill air.
They were ripe for me
I could almost feel them
grow under my hands.

“Please…”

she stammered again.

“Don’t do this, you don’t have to.”

These pleas were only superficial
I knew,
but I understood that she accepted
her fate.
The look was one of surprise
on my face
as I slid my hands slowly down to her jeans.
I let the question go unanswered
as I unbuttoned them.
I pulled the zip down.

“PLEASE!”

she screamed,
the saliva choking
as she pleaded.
The tears ran heavy
down her cheeks.

I couldn’t help but kiss her trembling mouth,
or to taste to salt of her tears.
A low laugh escaped from me
as I buried my face in her curls.
I inhaled deeply
letting the scent of her
shampooed hair overwhelm me.
“I can’t stop my love.
I’ve been waiting so long.
You’re my chosen one.”

Her whimpering became sobs,
uneven and lovely,
as I pulled down her jeans
leaving only her nakedness
between
her and I.

Then it was my turn.
Her eyes never left me
as I pulled my woolen sweater
over my head,
or even when I let my own jeans fall
to the carpeted floor.
Again I sat atop her,
hovering
for a moment
looking in her fear stricken eyes.

Those dark inhuman eyes.

First I let my lips enclose hers.
And though they were unwilling,
I could sense a trace of resignation
in her rebellion.

She was breaking.

“No, no my love.”
I grasped her in the palm of my hand
and her gasp, her open mouth;

I took slowly,

gently tasting still that cigarette
on her tongue.

“Please.”

she muttered.*
But again a stronger sense of her resignation
sounded
and when I let my fingers slide
in her
I knew she had given up.

She was mine, utterly.

I slid in her then,
knowing that she would be fully ready to submit to me.

I was never rough;
I was as death was intended to be,
natural and peaceful.
In and out,
in and out,
like breathing,
until her muffled sobs became sinuous
against my ear.
In and out,
slow and never rushed.
Her arched back
her fluttered eyes
all signs that it was almost time.

The waiting was almost painful
as I burst within her
sending death throughout her limbs,

watching the life escape
and rise slowly from her
until she lay limp on the bed.

Her soul,
her life,
lingered a moment longer
before I reached out
and sent it up towards what lay beyond.

“My love.”

I whispered against her deaf ears.

“My sweet love.”

I dressed her again
and left her outside with the other bodies.
Yet she I left farther apart.
Watching as the snow covered her
until she was only a mound of white.
Already buried in a grave
by nature.

******.
I think it’s time for another ****.
Soon though, soon I would confront him,
and he would not fare as well as my first.
Though indeed he would be different from the others,
someone new,
or maybe like my first
in his own way.

I’m feeling reminiscent. I’m feeling lonely for fear.

She stood outside the rusted metal door.
She knocked once,
but there was no answer.
There would be no answer.
Everyone had long since left to the other world.
I walked slowly towards her.
She took a last draw from her cigarette
and ground it beneath her foot.

I wonder what her bare feet will look like.

Of course there was all time for that.
I will kiss every toe
and burn the memory in my mind.

She jumped when I laid a gentle hand upon her shoulder.
Her eyes measured me warily.

Ah,

those dark brown eyes,
almost black,
so inhumanly beautiful.
I will kiss each one
and feel the caress of each soft eyelash against my skin.

Her panicked fear set within me a flame
and all I can see now was her,
her hair...her eyes...her supple mouth that formed a perfect cupid’s bow,
a bow I wanted to open,
stretch, kiss and caress.  

I pulled her to me.
I laid my lips atop hers amidst her struggle to get away,
but my grip was like iron.

I tasted the cigarette on her tongue.
Our chests touched
and I could feel the flutter of her heart
as she laid her palms against my chest trying to separate us.

The clink of teeth on teeth resounded loudly in my ears
and against the night air void of all sound.

She screamed,
a sound that I fully expected,
the delicate pitch
making me rush in a bought of impatience
to open the door that I pulled the metal from its hinges.

I pulled her inside towards the stairs, towards our room.

She raged against me.
Pulling and pushing,
trying desperately to flee, but it was too late.

I would not let her leave me. Never.

My lips, pressed against hers in the dark,
under a streetlight
with only our shadows witness to our love.
She stopped
and pulled a cigarette out from her pocket.
The tiny flicker of a flame lighted,
she breathed in the smoke,
and let it out in a slow exhale.
The smoke rose,
curling and dancing
amongst the wind
like white silk it wrapped
around nothing
until it dispersed.

When will I make it stop!

When will I hear the sporadic
rise
and fall
of her chest before she was eternally still,

I could barely stand it!
We were so close to our destination
that my impatience would be the end of us.
I waited and walked and watched
until she came closer to that dark alleyway
which I knew she would turn down.
I knew she would wait outside
the door wedged between and below brick walls
faded and crumbling,
distorted
and discolored
from the erosion of the winter winds.
I would take her then.
Then I would take her.

My hands were cold,
but not for long.
They wouldn’t be for long.
She turned a corner
and I followed,
but
could I control myself
long enough.

Oh God.

I could feel myself hardening
just watching her before me.
Watching her
my love,
the way she shook out her curls
letting the snow flakes
          tumble in
                  clumps
                         falling sporadically...
some melting
while others settled
on her shoulders
    and some
still falling from her grace to the ground.

The way she ran her hands over
her upper arms
to keep them warm maddened me!

I could see each goose bump
that grazed her palms
and each small shiver
   that
     happened
  in
    spasms
as she quickened her pace.

I will warm you.
I broke out in a smile.  
The winds beat against my teeth
numbing them,
but they would be warm
      soon enough.

I sat idly waiting,
watching her through her bedroom window.
She indeed was the one,
and how happy she would be when I told her
she would be my first.
Coming down the steps
and
walking out the door
I watched her still,
anxious for the moment to come
when I would hold her in my arms.
It was snowing out;
the contrast of her dark skin
against
the white snow,
a mere smudge she would have seemed
if not for the golden glow that surrounded her,
it made me to recall
a single chrysanthemum struggling in a field of snow.
I closed my eyes
imagining the taste of her,
wondering if she would have the scent of a flower,
or
if she would smell of fear
when I took her,
sliding myself into her gently
-never brusquely-
but in a way that would supersede even her
if only for a moment.

We brushed the soil from our cloths
laced our laces
tied our knots
and hair back in one.

We exited that place with empty souls
and hearts filled with sorrow.

The almighty sounds  rang in our ears
while we slept we dreamed dreams
of our experience.

Some of us kept our eyes open
till they shriveled and fell from their
places. While others laid down their heads
and slept forever.

Others yet kept on,
walking like ghosts through this world
waiting for any comfort
or abrupt oblivion.

She remembers
vividly
walking in.

The smells
the feel of the coarse hard wood
against her feet
the yellowed and peeling flakiness
of floral wallpaper.

She recalls the meat simmering on the stove.
The stove which was old
bulbous and black-cast iron perhaps.
It filled the small one room lighthouse
collecting between the crevices wedging and
flattening itself between plaster and cement.

Each step made a sound
reminding the surroundings of her presence.
The solitary light bulb flickered as she pulled its string.
Brushing her cheek she felt his toes
swinging 180 degrees then back again
-maybe less of a dramatic angle.

When I left you standing by that
still lake
I fully expected your image
to remain reflected,unmoving in the waters
surface.
Instead I made my journey back
and you were nowhere to be seen.
I stood for hours beckoning
but nothing cared for my inquiry.
When night then fell
the stars shone bright
and thus I realized
that in those stars
I saw your eyes.