oscillating between extremes

the seesaw tilts, slamming the body into hurtful,
no genteel daisy picking, nope, love me, love me not,
the mind playing warped ideologies, you, tossed about

I want her; all men do; the rapture is coming, her eyes,
preach to the converted and the soon-to-be; join her,
her semi-colon smile, represents a hell of near-completion!

discourse, pleadings, all for naught, she, teacher/grader,
A or F, frenzied thrown to the ground, her lips say oops,
but we know, a throwing intentional, a mastery of reminder!

barbs of  batting eyelids, whipping tongue tips reveal daggers,
woe is me, whoa I plead, there is no mercies extant, instead, we
oscillate up and down, tween extremes, I need her, can’t have her!

I hate her! and myself, for myself, I love her so, my hate for her is less
than our mutual mocking of me...

————

we oscillate between extremes, at least, we are together...

I've always been in between life.
It's always somewhere over being
uncertain and certain,
optimistic and pessimistic,
and introverted or extroverted.

Despite all that,
there's one thing I'm sure of.
It is holding on to dear life,
going along through it.

I am nothing more than human,
but I am my own future.

Torn between choices
Move forward or go back home
Which one up to you

I like how our hands seem to have their own
conversations, apart from our mouths.
I like how we tell things we can't seem to say out loud.
In these spaces between,
Our fingers meet and they fit.
Perfectly.
No walls, no secrets

I like how our hands know how to be together
In times we can't seem to.

I deeply have Passion and Love.
But I often feel such Disparity.
And somewhere
in between
There is Peace.

I reside at the In-Between,
Just like the hyphen
joining those two words,
A silent flatline
in the midst of two worlds.

Nobody chooses In-Between,
Its vague monotony
is too loud to bear,
Each passing minute
confusing and yet, bare.

The frustration of In-Between
is knowing I’m the bridge
connecting them as one,
and longing to be both
but belonging to none.

Love Letters to & between Men

are composition easy, the components, blunt edged,
declarations of affection, without affectation

verses but not stanzas, are all that required,
homer direct, no fanciful piping, no trimming needed

your strength, character, manly wistfulness,
gives me leave to grasp your shoulders all about

no feverish whispers, no cloaked hush, delicately interfering,
only an “I love you man,” a simple declarative compositional

firmly pronounced, eye to eye, hand to shoulder embraces,
acknowledged with crinkly eyed smile, met with a summarizing

“me too.”



2/12/2020
2:25am