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It’s time
I’ve been activated
Systems coming online
Nerves buzzing
Electric fingernails
Prickle the scalp

This morning
Was the last of its kind
The wheel of change turns
Revealing a strange  new dawn
Nothing will ever
Be The same
1:11 on 5/5/24
Will it burn me up?
This extraordinary love?
I let my self go
Without its planets
The sun is just another
Solitary star
Gut dropping falls
Dizzying ascent
It scares me
But I get back on

Forgive and forget
Care first for yourself
Pursue pleasure
Avoid pain.

Asynchronous
Dichotomies
Cannot achieve
Mutual satisfaction

Pain is inevitable
The price of living
paid in discomfort
And Uncertainty

A life of comfort
Is quiet and easy
An extraordinary life
Challenges the soul
Even though my head knows that the drop is coming, it doesn’t cease to be exciting. If the extraordinary was routine, what would be the point of pursuing it?
I struggle with my heart.
It’s so bruised. I’m still healing.
It feels tender to the touch.
When anyone gets close
a guard rises up out of my mind
to close off access.

Through the shield she peers out,
desiring love, to press against
another’s beating heart.
But she still bleeds sometimes,
the wounds don’t heal
like they do in the physical.
I don’t know how to close
the lacerations,
and so they remain open.

I look into myself,
and cry into my broken heart.
The astral tears are bitter
and cause the heart to ache.
Perhaps all that can be done
is to hold my broken pieces together,
and let time pass,
recreating me again and again.
Create so many new layers of me
that my heart is intact once again.
Day by day, choosing to be whole
will manifest a whole new being.
Time heals all wounds. Isn’t that what they say?
Eyes are all puffy
Hair is disheveled
Tears in gelato
Make it much sweeter

The heart thumps loudly
Each cell 100 pounds
The distance from you
Increases the force

When I lie awake
And wish for you near
You are closer than
If I see you daily

Yearning for the zenith
Brings so much pleasure
What is left to want
When the end does come?
Life is a beautiful mess. Half of the suffering is in the desire for something more, something else, something better. Half of the suffering is in getting exactly what you want.
When the ****
hits the fan,
the things I want to hear
and the things I need to hear
are rarely the same thing.

It’s usually the hard truth
that I remember most
in the wee hours,
when anxiety swirls
around my head

When the time finally comes
to exit the whirlpool
the words that my heart
knows are true,
are the words
that fuel the change.
Like the song I was singing with soul, for years before I lived it, before I had the experience for it to really make sense. Like my mother’s wisdom that I didn’t want to hear, but it rang in my ears after the outcome of my foolishness is fulfilled. Will I always learn the hard way?
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