#recurring
I've fought a lot to get it out, tried to keep it out, but I can not
I scream and shout,
"WHAT'S IT ALL ABOUT?"
Even post realization that it's all for nought
Had an ill advised, never properly revised, recurring thought
Form an in home gym enterprise to exercise demons on the spot
More issues to stack like russian dolls is all I ever got
Caught each slow kiiller by keepin' it in house to follow the origin plot
Scrip changes happen often regardless of what me, myself or I want
Zero red yarn supplied, can't attempt a connection with any new dot
I play my part in my story as the man forgiveness forgot
Both what I keep in and what spills out identified as the source of the rot
©2024
May 1, 2024
May 1, 2024 at 12:50 PM UTC
And so we said again and again..
“No later in life could I feel this way
Don’t hesitate to call.
Soon ill be up up and away.
Carrying this gold
I feel so bold
A part of me has died.
A part of me is sold.
No matter where I go
I feel as if tho
That someday everyday
That it will come along.
So I don’t really hesitate
I just meditate
And sing along
With the ******* song!”
-Shabazz Ifti
Jul 16, 2020
Jul 16, 2020 at 11:18 AM UTC
There it lays,
my tear soaked
pillow case.
In clouds unseen
where they visit me
every night since thirteen
What am I to do
with no avenue to pursue
when they deny my inhibitions
and tell them they're forgiven?
I see what I can't change and
I can't change what I see
I want to want their vision
of tender, loving, harmony
but it feels like swallowing poison
treating my actions remorsefully.
I take each day
one at a time
unyielding to divulge
what comes to me as I lay
every night
on my tear soaked pillow case.
May 22, 2020
May 22, 2020 at 1:45 PM UTC
The cold sense of a
Dreamy deja-vu;
I feel the shadows
Crowd around me
And I’m p
u
l
l
e
d
Into a familiar darkness.
I roam the dreamscape
In search of an exit.
Although I already know
What lies ahead,
I’m still distressed.
A constant reincarnation
Of the same faceless
Figure, waiting for me
At the end of
My dreaded ascension.
Chilled to my soul,
I face my indistinctive
Nightmare. The ghosts
Of the past seen so alive
From behind closed eyes.
May 11, 2019
May 11, 2019 at 2:29 AM UTC
When everything has been said,
What is left to speak, but recurrance in my speach, over and over..
Alike a painting, drawn within a single colour which fades into darkness, as there is nothing left the sweet, majestic ink could cover.
What is the sense for me to write if the message stays the very same?
Verily, I have forgotten the answer for this question a long time ago.
Perhaps it is, but the sign that the message can be conveyed in many possibilities, ways and forms, such as stories what makes them uniqe.
So even if a painting looks all the same at some point or another,
It is still art, brought from the depths of thoughts, from within a heart
A painting is a world of it's own, but so is a poem, or a simple novel.
Because each contains the hopes and wishes, the effort and care of the person, who made it their passion to create a wonderful piece of art.
Return to the same old place, with the same old pace and you might find joy in what you came to see yet again, before your tired eyes.
Alike an imaginated landscape drawn within your heart, the memories of a happier time might paint you a world in your head.
~ Umi
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 3:25 PM UTC
A moment recurring
does wash away
like a river rock
The smooth surface
of an eroded stone
is just as hard
as the abraded silence
that rivers
through loneliness
Sometimes terrified
of this foolish
blue moon heart;
of its constant
hunger
for whatever
it is it wants;
the way it stops
and starts ,..
like a revenant whisper
fanning
smoldering embers
of fallen stars
buried deeply
in the catacombs
of an unrequited heart
out of reach,
just a step away,
but close enough
to touch the crumbs
of some other's love
bestrewn sanguinely ―
marking the footprints
calling down
an unshorn pathway
never found
At a deserted crossroads,
many a moon
tiptoe past
inconspicuously;
unnoticed fallen stars
stagnate lightless
in a flash of darkness,
moving back in time
just standing still
harlon rivers ... March 2018
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 12:50 PM UTC
I've wasted time not kissing you
But that thought is not new.
Your being truly captivates me;
Your lips, your hips,
Your thighs, your eyes.
Lost in a sea of our activity
My mind losing grip on reality
In the face of your intoxicating personality.
I've not wasted time in kissing you.
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 5:45 AM UTC
There’s this dream I’ve been getting ever since I was a baby.
with each jump
going higher
on the horison. i keep
of rolling hills theres mountains with jumping but
landscape no trees in sight. i try
im in this i try to walk but i keep gettingfaster
i jump too high
finally i
until
p
l
u
m
m
e
t
i try to stop
but i cant
i brace
then i hit the ground
And then I wake up.
Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 11:24 AM UTC
I literally can’t go to the mall
Without doing my homework first.
And I literally can’t take my money
Without carrying a purse.
I literally can’t text my friends
Without having my parents see.
I literally can’t leave the house
Without having my annoying brother with me.
I literally can’t do this and that.
I literally can’t own a cat.
There are literally so many things I want to do,
But I LITERALLY can’t do those, too.
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 11:01 AM UTC
(Recurring Reflections And Beliefs)
Birthday after birthday
i keep looking back...
and find five girls always on my tail,
i see them as my regular paparazzi
when i am in my busiest moments,
when things work out adversely,
against all my best efforts
i find them still tagging along with me...
And then,
i look back at my most trying times
i recall those epiphanies that came to light my way,
how they guided me through,
until i was out of the dark tunnel...
.....until that MOMENT came
when i could hear with just one ear,
i have no regrets, though, or anger within,
for, i could still hear the leaves rustle
when a light breeze blows...
i hear even the dry oak leaves
as they hit the ground,
or when an empty plastic cup
is blown by the wind
from corner to corner of the street...
these days, i am more aware
of the bees buzzing on top of the flowers,
the birds, scattering seeds, helping
create new lives on the ground.....
i still clearly hear the hummingbird flapping its wings,
hovering, as it drinks from the bird feeder,
even as dusk sets in...
i hear the mockingbird...as it closes its wings
and roosts on a pine twig.....
One vital truth keeps me going-
i still have my one good ear
my eyes, my arms, my feet...
always, i am reminded of this question:
why did God endow us with two eyes,
two ears, two hands, two feet?
we lose one, there is still the other
in our daily lives, the same thing applies
among our loved ones and friends,
we lose some, we gain some....
some doors close, another one opens...
second, even third chances are ever waiting,
a fresh start is always there to be claimed...
In this stretch of my life,
i still am faced with choices on paths to take,
those once transitory thoughts
still visit and within me, they stir..
but, reason and good judgment
rise above all...
.....these things, i have realized---
most of what i wanted then...and didn't get,
i have now let go....
selflessness is inevitable,
there are people...things...to be prioritized
over our own happiness
understanding is important
.....seeing myself here, now,
.....i am happy,
.....i am no longer there
still, i am glad to have been there...
When asked the most puzzling questions,
i have learned to turn
to the wisdom of the children,
i always, always have but one answer....
"...just because...".
At this point and time,
life, still is not perfect...
but i have known how to be calm,
as i face each new day...
perfect, or imperfect,
it doesn't matter anymore,
heart and mind have been honed,
for this knowledge overrules all others:
God is beside me, He is behind me...
He leads me,
He's got me covered...
i have nothing to fear...
(November 13, 2013)
Sally
Copyright November 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 12:43 PM UTC
The wounds of separation constantly weeping. Never healing properly because you keep picking and reopening the scars.
Biting and chewing until there's nothing left. Your self destructive, emotionally cannibalistic nature is apparent.
Everybody cares, right?
Why else would the constant lies and condescending suggestions be bombarded upon your already weary mind.
Even in theses recurring dreams you find no relief. For others dreams are fantastic things of beauty. For you they're as dangerous as yellow cake in the hands of the despot.
Constantly changing, pushing and detaching now. Starring into the mirror. Who is this?
Things we don't talk about.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 12:17 PM UTC
Swore I felt your flesh
Push through my dreams
Your gums soft against my tongue
Metal braces tearing through me
A phantom residue
From the crawlspace of my mind
An unconsciously yearning
For love
No longer mine
How the **** can I move on?
With the scent of your breath
Lingering in morning mist
How the **** can I move on?
With the sweat of your skin
Soaking my fingertips
This ache is unbearable
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 7:24 AM UTC