Cruel Creature

Am I left to be what I thought to escape?

Do we all grow up into a monster? My sister, my brother.

Where is the line I thought to draw to keep me safe?

I see wind and ash and nothing left.

And my emotions are anger, hot and seething.

The emotions father taught, the emotions he gave.

My sister is him, in action, in temper.

And for her too, there is anger in my heart.

Anger at her silence, at her banishment.

Anger she would step away and think to return.

Yet to not let her return one day, is to be

The father I swear I am not.

But she struck to hurt, and picked that which she

Knew would draw blood and fester wound.

She knew it would echo the beats of father.

She wanted it to hurt and wanted to control.

But, I felt no hurt, no sorrow or loss

Far what should I mourn at this mountainside?

A sister I do not miss. A fruit rotten and vile.

No, no. No loss do I feel. But, I am angry

She would dare to brandish a weapon and strike,

Dare to think she could wield power and destruction.

Does she not know she faces a giant

Who has lain waste to such trivial emotions as grief

Over blood that matters little more than putrid mud?

And, is this emotionless surrender not what father taught as well?

Did he not teach me to feel nothing, value nothing, that could

Control or own my mental state. Is it a sign of healing

Or another layer of my trauma?

I don't know, and I suppose it shall not matter.

Angry I shall be and ready to set walls.

No one of blood shall lay claim to me.

Own me, control or test my limits.

Tis not a game I seek to play anymore.

Now that I have left father behind,

I cannot become yet another cruel creature.