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cjamesb
30/M/United States Obsessed with form: strict adherence to it, outright rebellion against it, and creative manipulation of it.
Soothing inhalation of love's pink air stokes red the furnace of my drumkit heart beating. Beating concordant thoughts that snare rhythmic hums that crescendo to kick start the exalted exhalation of love. Passing melody escapes parted lips, a caged-bird free, singing of hope above insecurity's storm: writhing tempest that returns solemn to mindful eddies, where tired souls find compassionate solace in that rest between breaths, for once at ease with realities of life's great promise. Love's warm caress thaws shadowed doubts of mine; with broken earthly bonds, praise my Divine!
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Jun 5, 2022
Jun 5, 2022 at 11:17 PM UTC
A Sonnet on Love #1
Rain-slicked Asphalt repulses     Black tread rubber         Pushing me off-course              No longer heading home                    Instead bearing to confront                           Mother Nature’s fenced border                                  Chain-linked crooked limbs weaving                                         Disaster and death into my tapestried                                              Life and her children taunting chanting                                                  Red Rover Red Rover let the human come                                                                                Over yet I fail to break their linked arms                                                                            Instead my glass shield is sharply pierced                                                                   One arm through reaching for my throat                                                       Grasping Suffocating Closing Ending            Before fright wide eyes         Witnessing    Crash
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Jun 5, 2022
Jun 5, 2022 at 11:09 PM UTC
Collision
Rain-slicked Asphalt repulses     Black tread rubber         Pushing me off-course              No longer heading home                    Instead bearing to confront                           Mother Nature’s fenced border                                  Chain-linked crooked limbs weaving                                         Disaster and death into my tapestried                                              Life and her children taunting chanting                                                  Red Rover Red Rover let the human come                                                                                Over yet I fail to break their linked arms                                                                            Instead my glass shield is sharply pierced                                                                   One arm through reaching for my throat                                                       Grasping Suffocating Closing Ending            Before fright wide eyes         Witnessing    Crash
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21
Son, I remember smiling faces who gathered around the television’s glow. "Are you comfortable?" I asked each one. "Yes, Mamaw," they sang out to me like precious songbirds, my family. Son, I remember faces who gathered around the television. "Are you comfortable?" I asked each. "Yes, Mamaw," they sang to me like songbirds, my family. Son, I remember who gathered around television. "Are you comfortable?" I asked. "Yes, Mamaw," sang to me like, my family. Son, remember who gathered around. "Are you?" I asked. "Yes, Mamaw," to me, my family. Son, who gathered. "Are you?" Asked. "Yes," to me, family. Who "Are you" to me.
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Mar 20, 2019
Mar 20, 2019 at 10:18 AM UTC
Alzheimer's
Praying undue forgiveness, I am numbed to fetal in experience, birthed by prosaic desperation to fathom life, or death, in this pill: Prozac succubus, an offering of soothing bliss too distant, quivering, to reach, motherless fawn, stumbling to my knees repenting regrets repeatedly, muttering God, unheard, alone.
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Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 5:42 PM UTC
Adolescent Side Effects
"Hide in here." I shut the shelter, securing my sister within the hanging fabric shells, shrouding her in my protection. The first bomb erupts, shattering peace into pieces of cheap glass, coating the floor like ice on a bridge. Danger, bridge freezes before road. Mom begins to wail, but the siren signals too late to escape the collision: His words—Her heart. And I will never fear Sticks and Stones. Instead, I will fear Words. Disgustful syllables strung together to guillotine my mind. I wish it had been me sealed inside the shelter. "Dad is home."
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Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 10:09 AM UTC
Bomb Shelter
Fear standing atop crumbled clifftop. A fleeting breeze whispers to me "what’s next?" My Earth corrodes, this tearwater runoff lifting fertile soil. Memories cropped; despaired debris remains in frame. Perplexed fear standing atop crumbled clifftop. Two arms spread wide, frantic, balance I sought. "Resist," whispers the breeze, "and breathe, reflect: my Earth corrodes, this tearwater runoff you precipitated; my ruin you wrought." My toes begin to peek: the sea. Obsessed fear. Standing atop crumbled clifftop we teeter with unease that love means naught when trust already sunk below the crest. My Earth corrodes. This tearwater runoff shall carve away our ache, and so we fought against the chance that our love could contest fear. Standing atop crumbled clifftop, my Earth corrodes this tearwater runoff.
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Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 10:05 AM UTC
Unsettled