#CallMeMrPoe

[mrpoesaidwhat]

Headcanons: Miranda’s First Daughter – Y/N (Angst Enhanced Edition)

Since there were a lot of people who wanted part two for Miranda's first daughter, here it is! Thank you to the 13 people who actually wanted it! *hats off* *wiping tears* You young people have a place in this old lady's heart...

(To whomever owns this pic, which is not me)

Buckle up, buttercup! Mr. Poe just woke up!

• Y/N was born from love. Miranda's first husband, her only real love, used to hold Miranda like she was fragile glass and whisper promises to their baby girl. “She’ll be the light of your life,” he said once, pressing Miranda’s hand to her swelling belly. But when he died, that light became a torch Miranda couldn’t bear to carry.

• Miranda didn’t mean to abandon her. At first. It started with missed recitals. Forgotten birthdays. Then came the silence. Long, unspoken silence that filled rooms like smoke, thick and hard to breathe in.

• Y/N tried to understand. At eight, she wrote Miranda letters. At ten, she left drawings on her desk. At twelve, she stood in doorways like a ghost, waiting to be noticed. At fifteen, she realized she never would be.

• The twins came, and suddenly, Miranda remembered how to smile. But not at Y/N. Never at Y/N. She became the other daughter. The quiet one. The leftover.

• “Mum… Can we have dinner? Just us?” The plea was soft, hopeful, like a candle flickering in the wind. Miranda didn’t just blow it out. She smashed it.

“Why don’t you ever leave me alone?! Always asking this and that! Is the money I give you not enough to shut you up? God, I come home to rest, not to be pestered by your constant neediness! Don’t you have anything better to do than be a thorn in my goddamn side?! …God, I wish I never had you.” That last sentence was under her breath. But Y/N heard it. She heard everything.

• “I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered, eyes glistening. “I didn’t realize I was… that much of a burden. ”She stood there for a second longer. Just in case Miranda changed her mind.  She didn’t. Women of her words 

• Y/N never asked again. No more notes on the fridge. No more invitations. No more soft footsteps lingering outside Miranda’s door, hoping for a "Goodnight, sweetheart." She didn’t even cry. She just disappeared. Slowly. Silently. Intentionally.

• Miranda didn’t notice. She was too busy being adored by the twins, too busy conquering the fashion world, too busy pretending she wasn’t haunted.

• Lizzie noticed. "She’s not eating,” she muttered. “She only takes toast now. Black coffee. Sometimes nothing at all.” Miranda waved her off. “Teenage moods. She’ll grow out of it.”

• Y/N grew colder, sharper. Her sarcasm became armor. Her wit, a blade. “Your skirt’s wrinkled.” “Ironic coming from the woman who wrinkled my childhood.” (She whispered that)

• At school, Y/N excelled. Quiet genius. Secret artist. A poet who bled grief onto paper and passed it off as fiction. The title: ‘Daughter of Absence’ She never told Miranda.

• Then came the slow exodus. Y/N stopped leaving traces of herself. Her toothbrush vanished from the bathroom. Her favorite mug... gone. No jackets on chairs. No forgotten shoes. No soft humming in the hallway. Just the sterile silence Miranda claimed to love.

• One day, Miranda came home early. No scent of incense. No soft jazz from under Y/N’s door. Something was off. She knocked. No answer. She opened the door. The room was... hollow. Bookshelf stripped. Closet half-empty. A single object sat on the bed: A photo. Y/N as a child, in Miranda’s lap. Both were smiling. On the back, scribbled in the margin: “That version of us never happened again.”

• That night, Miranda dreamt of her husband. He was standing beside Y/N. He said nothing—just looked at Miranda, disappointed, tired. Y/N didn’t even look her way.

• The next morning, Lizzie handed her a note. “Found this wedged in her window frame.” No envelope. Just a crumpled page, faintly smelling of lavender and ink. It read: “Don’t worry. I’m not dead. Just done.”

• Miranda sat on Y/N’s bed, clutching the photo like it could rewind time. The silence felt heavier than usual. For the first time in years, Miranda said her daughter’s name aloud. But no one answered.

How was that? Next part? Ask and you shall receive. But keep in mind, I’m built to leave.

Sighed, wrote, and had a snack—Mr. Poe’s off, might not come back

[mrpoesaidwhat]

Why is Chicken Banana so catchy?!

Buckle up, buttercup, Mr.Poe just woke up!

I was just scrolling through videos like a normal person, when I heard it. “Chiiiiicken… bananaaaa~” And I don’t know what happened after that because my brain… left.

I thought it would be one of those weird little sounds you hear once and forget. But no. This thing moved in. Rent-free. It’s now living in my head next to that one Vine of the kid saying “fre shavocado.”

I caught myself humming it while washing dishes. Humming. A fake song. About tasty-animal and fruit.

And you know what? I kind of get it. These Gen Alpha kids are out here creating unhinged masterpieces while I’m struggling to remember if I took my allergy meds. Their sense of humor is bizarre, surreal, and terrifyingly effective. I salute them. I fear them. (but they gotta chill out a bit too)

I’m saying this is not a type of song I want in my head. And why is it so catchy?!

Sighed, wrote, and had a snack, Mr. Poe’s off, might not come back!

[mrpoesaidwhat]

I am back new!

Buckle up, buttercup! Mr. Poe just woke up!

Howdy Folks!

I have come back new. If you have seen my first post, you know that I was gonna change my username and blah blah. So, here I am, all changed. From now on, you can call me Mr. Poe. I am gonna spread my thoughts like the plague. I probably am gonna sound like a grandma, so before you call me one. I will call myself one. Just a heads up. I might post something in here that might make you angry, sad, hurt, and whatnot. So, I do give you permission to talk back, roast, share your piece of mind, and all. But be respectful (Cus, an old lady's heart might get hurt). But (yes, another one), if you talk back to another person who is not Mr.Poe (which is me) in this blog, you may get cancelled. Speaking of getting cancelled, hey, go easy on me, mate! I am new to the internet. Been #CancelledSince1946. I will post jokes, headcanons, reblog things that I find funny, recommend things, advise the youngies, stories, memes, thank yous, welcomes, news, gossips, thoughts, trends, and things. Warning, I will most likely use bad words. If you wanna share your thoughts, just DM or reblog and I will rereblog, so you can rerereblog, and I will rererereblog and more. I am here for funnies, don't take too seriously.

Trust me, it's not worth canceling or blocking me. I am a force of nature. I will not seek revenge. Also, if you ask for part two of anything, this is what I am gonna say: "Patience, child, and sip your tea, chaos crafts unpredictably."

Sighed, wrote, and had a snack! Mr. Poe’s signing off might not come back...