Stone Soup

This last Sunday May 1, was six months since Roger died on November 1, 2015. I’m  fine, really I’m fine. Just a little angry. Well to tell the truth, more than just a little angry. I want to punch walls and smug faces. If my words could be lethal weapons, that would be great too. It would be best if you didn’t tell me that I’m angry because Roger left me all alone to deal with this messy life. I will deny any connection between my rage, and Rogers’ death. People just really piss me off right now. See, I went from anger to rage in just this paragraph, and now I am crying too. This calls for some poetry.
I Hate You, Thank You

You are the perfect target
For my Rage.
A poor excuse for a man,
Or a hissing reptile
And easy to hate.
Your mouth opens only
To vomit lies and arrogance.
I will find a way, will find a way
To bring you down.
I rehearse my sarcastic comebacks
And make plans to attack.
Directing my rage, at You.
For now you are a perfect target
For my grief/ rage.
Thank you

Beads

There is a moment
when a tear fills an eye,
and the eye shimmers.
Looking out those
tear-filled eyes
my beads shimmer too.
Their roundness is blurred,
But their colors break into prisms.
I wipe my eyes,
Sure that I can see clearly now.
For awhile I miss the tears
I miss the beauty they bring
To my beads.
Shimmer.