Anonymous Umbra

I was created

 out of rage

  born unloved,

a body

 pushed away

  before I even breathed.

Shards of me

 fractured at birth,

  spinning,

splintering,

 growing sharp

  in silence.

I shake

 my body a volcano

  erupting in mist,

spitting fire,

 tearing through the air.

I see them

 those who wronged me

  their eyes go lead,

drift,

 and go blank.

I no longer speak

 to the dead things

  though at times

they whisper back.

Fantasies flare

 like claws on skin,

  spinning,

cutting,

 splintering the world

  into shards of rage.

Inside, a storm waits 

 a thousand faces,

  each sharper than the last,

fractured reflections

 of what I was never allowed to be.

Anger coils

 around my spine,

  a living serpent

with teeth of shadow and heat.

I am storm,

 I am fracture,

  I am pulse

that cracks glass,

 that drags their eyes

  into the abyss

and leaves them hollow.

I no longer speak

 to the dead things

  though at times

they whisper back.

I walk softly.

 The ground believes my weight is nothing.

A smile curls at the corners,

 hiding the tempest,

  the fire,

the shards

 that cut the air

  before I even touch it.

I am quiet,

 but I am everywhere

  spinning,

splintering,

 alive in every fracture,

every scream unspoken,

 every hand that trembles

with the memory of what they cannot undo.