Wield them proud for they are your own
Words are yours to cast in stone.
Unsheathe them with reason and rhyme
Reveal them so they may last through time.
Wield them proud for they are your own
Words are yours to cast in stone.
Unsheathe them with reason and rhyme
Reveal them so they may last through time.
1 day ago

Like the fevered blood coursing through veins

Like open sores upon the skin

Like the drums that faltered in the rain

Like the potion quietly bunged within

Like the promise doomed never to be kept

Like the mouth which spoke too quick

Like the palms, too eager to accept

Like the heart that now refused to tick

5 days ago

This is my bargain.
Day for night
and night for day.

There isn't a time where I hadn't wished
that the day would end to make way for night.

Nights offer a bleak sense of comfort.
Almost as if they'd grant a temporary cloak which
you could huddle under and think or...
Overthink in the dark.

You could bargain shamelessly with tears running streams down your face and no one could see.
You could negotiate with reality for the slight perchance that things would turn out alright come daylight.
You could voice out your barter in hushed tones and still be somewhat assured that no one would know.
All of this...
In the cover of night.

Then when sleep eludes, you can't help but beg for day to come.
For with the light comes the day's responsibilities; all eager and raring to go.
Much like runners at the start line, anticipating the shot to be fired at the crack of dawn.
Shot fired and they'd come swooping down on you...
Sweeping you off your feet and carries you off to where you need to be, doing what you're paid to do for the next 8 to 10 hours.

That is your break from the dark.
That is your retreat from all the thinking.
That is your escape from... yourself.

And then...
4 hours into the day, you're wishing for night again.

6 days ago

This anger...

Feels like a ball of uncontrollable energy that spins treacherously in the pit of my stomach.

It is unbound and reaches out forcefully in every axis. It is self-sustaining. And it consumes...
All of me...

It's doesn't want to be displaced, or swept under the rug for the umpteenth time. It doesn't want to be cajoled or calmed. It doesn't want to be coaxed into thinking that it does not need to rear its ugly head because I believe I have a handle on things; which I clearly do not.

It knows me too well and will not take it lying down.

It wants acknowledgement and it wants to speak.

It wants to speak in a low guttural voice for the sheer purpose of intimidation.
It wants grow in figurative size to assert its validation.
It wants to absorb every form of negativity and use it to fuel the fight.
It wants to take the faintest pin-prick or papercut to the most painful stab in the heart and use them...
Harness them and then...
Explode in a hundred-mile radius.

This anger is real...
And it has had enough of sitting on the bench.
Now it wants a piece of the action...

And this time I let it.

Mar 16

It was a sucker punch.
One that leaves you winded and frozen.
And you struggle to get out of this malfunction...
Trying to find that foothold that would take you to the next breath.

Quickening of the heartbeat...
Almost instantaneous.
Thumps so loud and hard you could hear them in your ears.

You never saw it coming.
You weren't ready.
You replay it again and again.
Like a bad movie stuck on repeat.

It never happened.
Nothing happened.

Mar 13

This is my feud...
This is my fight.
Many are my thoughts,
I hide from sight.

I show myself steady
but much remains unseen.
Ungreased are the cogs in my head.
Their teeth sharpened keen.

They eat and abrade.
Always turning, always grinding.
Results always made,
detrimental and unforgiving.

So think of me...
Not negligence maintained
and notions bought.
Think of my feud.
Let it be food for thought.

Mar 11

I tinker
I overthink
I mull over
I sink

I entertain
I disassemble
I ascertain
I gamble

I play
I rewind
I play again
And again
I find

I reassemble
Still I sink
I'm in battle
When I overthink

Mar 10

I am merely the conduit...
For those who are voiceless.
Or the servant even...
To things which lay silent.
I am the medium through which
you come alive.

A noteworthy find,
but your words are still your own.
Birthed from the deepest ocean of thoughts...
Forged with the fiercest fires of emotions...
And harvested from the richest mine we call life.

But I hadn't planted the seeds...
You did.

But you did nurture them,
so they might flourish.
You did share them,
so others you nourish.
If I am anything in this enterprise,
I am the wind that brushes your skin...
Not the gust that fills your sail.

Then I accept that we're both so fitting.
Therefore I acknowledge you
as you do I.


Once again, I have lost my marbles.
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