Cyntra-Sinclair

    The old apple revels its authority- or rather his authority. She could tell he did, just by the way he sat, the way he decided to ignore her sometimes, the way he would just disappear with no explanation and turn up randomly. It was like he wasn’t even a part of the family anymore. After so many years together, to see him cripple like this was heartbreaking, especially when he wouldn’t discuss it. He thought highly of himself, which was why he did as he pleased… and now she was shedding even more scales as days passed.     One day, she invited her sister over to discuss the matter. “Ask him out on a date,” s

One of the several rules of life is to never, under any circumstances, hurt the empath. Indeed, they are sensitive, but also the only ones who see you for who you are. Who will mean it when they say they understand, cry with you, laugh with you, mirror you except for when you need to smile. They will reach from the glass only to embrace you. They brace themselves for a hurricane of hurt for you. They endure the fright of an arrest, erosion of love, crumbling forgiveness so they can put themselves in your shoes. Yawning is contagious, but is crying as well? For empaths, they can’t help it. Do not hurt the empath. When your parent

We go exploring because really, we want to feel like we have a purpose in life. In hopes of one day becoming more than a human, or perhaps the one superior chosen one, we look to temples, rituals with witches’ ghosts, statues of philosophers, Da Vinci’s grave, and we bow foolishly. We cry, apparently we’ve made it, que the symphony of the climax, because the one has arrived at the ruins of ancient Greece. But you don’t want to admit that. No one wants to say they feel that way. I don’t either. I just wonder what would happen if we stopped searching… halted our discoveries. Do we even ever stop to get an ae

It’s always the odd one out. The quiet one. The one with different ideas, maybe not about violence, but they just have to be different. I don’t say a lot at all, but I’m loud when I need to be. I have friends, but maybe not in one particular class. I may burst out in maniacal laughter from time to time because I found something funnier than it should be… but that doesn’t mean I’m going to hurt you. I’m just sitting here doing my work, am I not? Like a good student. I’m just trying to make friends, be kind to others because truthfully that’s who I am… like one hell of a student.

Once upon a time, there was a handful of empathy. It curled up and kneaded within a woman who was willing to give her heart to anybody. She never intentionally did anything wrong- she was just negligent. Maybe she even gave into lust, but she never wanted to hurt anyone. Twas her emotions that sprung spider legs and clawed their way out of her. She had a multitude of friends, a lover, an embrace for everything and everyone regardless. She valued the people of one hundred years ago Yet she was to blame for someone else’s pain. Apparently. Desires fought over her, and they grieved when they lost… but when they won, the woman

Night takes me back to ancient philosophy. When I didn’t exist, despite the aroma of it being a fresh memory. A coolness, the ghost of the rain, pine trees a home to history and their owls, morals coiled around twigs, snapping and fracturing beneath our feet. Nothing but wind. I remember a time when I hadn’t existed yet, philosophers perched atop doric columns, picking away at the world beneath a raven moon, a pattern of clouds streaked across it. I can see everything while barely being able to see at all. Tonight’s poem is a waltz of the one real fear present in you and I- life itself, regardless of what form it takes.