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ryn Mar 2020
When a child throws a tantrum,
he’d cry and scream and wail.
He’d flail his arms and throw himself on the floor.

Like a child I have tantrums too.

But I have grown past the luxury where it is acceptable for me to openly showcase such explosive displays of displeasure and discontent.

So what do I do?
I have to carefully select words that possibly could capture the essence of the disquiet in my heart and mind.

And I pen them down in tears.







This is me,
and I’m throwing a tantrum.
ryn Mar 2020
I’ve
built
a cage
around
my
heart.

Not
to keep
you out,

but
to keep
you in.
ryn Mar 2020
What might set us apart
between mice and men.

Could be the hard choices
in which we must make.

A wise mind
with the potency of ink from a pen.

And a scale to weigh
the outcomes at stake.
ryn Mar 2020
Leaves on branches
break away and blow free.

In search of hale
untrodden ground.

Seemingly sturdy trunk,
bent to a slouch.

Captive roots half-emerged
from its earthly bound.
ryn Dec 2019
Might I fathom
the spaces between the seconds.

Might I plot
each mark on the map.

Might I track
the footsteps that I've left behind.

Might I absolve
the mind ensnared in a trap.
ryn Oct 2019
Cut me loose

     from these strings

          that bind.


So I might again

     exercise the freedom

          of mind.
ryn Oct 2019
Chronicle these breaths.
And lay them naked
on paper - for the world
to see and judge,
like you know you should.

Dissect them...
With the sharpness
of your scalpel-like thoughts,
like you always would.

Fall in love with them.
Tag them with unspoken words
all too familiar.
Then cast them unto me...
When you finally know you could.
ryn Oct 2019
I am but a stone
just skipping across a body of still.
I get a taste
yet never fully drenched.
Not until I lose all momentum
and mobility - I sink.

Submerge...

And then drown.
ryn Sep 2019
A vessel set sail.
In the early call of day.
She lurched and bobbed,
as she moved across the bay.

From bow to stern
acknowledged by the morning light.
Her dew stained deck
- proof of restful slumber in the night.

With the earth’s fresh breath,
its majestic sail bloated full.
Her mast spoke in creaks
as wind and current made its pull.

A lone seafarer stood motionless.
His eyes squinted in the sun.
Deft hands on the wheel
as they steer and run.

Just out of the cove,
she’s now far off and seemingly small.
A silhouette about to disappear,
I await its return, when the sun begins to fall.
ryn Sep 2019
Walk,
as far as these feet will take me.
Moving with deliberateness,
laden with calculated purpose.

And knowing that every time each foot
successfully meets the earth,
I would always be somewhere new.

Each step would feel perhaps
unfamiliar ground,
shed new light, see fresh faces
and experience different days.

As long as I stay loyal to the course...

Always moving...
Walking,

into the sun.
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