"recurringly" poems
now, i’m no physicist
but i believe
the powers of gravity
to lay far beyond
the tides of the ocean
and the pulls of the moon
if gravity
in all its mighty magnetism
chooses only to pull the earth
how might one explain
the karmatic lure
that graces our love?
through the roughest of splits
leaving the most jagged of edges
scars ripped through perfection
forever shattered by broken words
despite endless attempts at resolution
and countless finales to our grand tale
we always found our tears
to be recurringly interrupted
by the rustle of curtains being drawn open
for an encore of what was presumed to be lost
who has drawn these continuously?
consistently hoping in the face of doubt
to whom might i extend thanks
for becoming the self-appointed stagehand of our love?
why, it can be none other
than the beloved universe
that intertwined us from formation
expending the very magic used to bind us
to tear away our blindness
and once again
as if on cue
reunite us
Mar 11, 2019
Mar 11, 2019 at 11:59 PM UTC
How do you prove an immunity to
a recurringly exhumed seclusion
when the noise of static, so intrusive when unmuted, easily confuses
and a skewed view produces only illusion's futile ruses?
Can't hands, seamlessly and when misguided, be abusive
from refusing their own bruises and contusions,
manifest and fuse into a multitude of misconstrued, misled misuses?
Yet I will argue choosing to humor the tune communicating through the intuitive music and movement that amuses-
what is heard echoes clues for harmony and hallowed union's
mutual congruence,
even in the crudest beauty and pursuit of human improvement and what we knew, uprooted.
Doubt, when reducing to delusions, always loses when refuted,
and though humility means fragile ****** included,
elusive truths all allude to an absolution through this-
what diffuses, what we keep, and how we do it the conclusion.
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 3:12 AM UTC
I hate my inner *****
who flares recurringly, consistently,
cruelly to the surface upon those
who least deserve it.
I hate my inner narcissist
who rears herself
so cleanly
on the outer sleeve of
Me
bashing down while lifting me up
on the shoulders of
comparison
I hate my learned complexes
bred not of my parents
but of a woman who saw a light
and sought only to
consume it.
I hate how amid the dread and sin
every rippled part of these indentions below my skin
I must completely forgive them.
Dec 1, 2020
Dec 1, 2020 at 8:25 AM UTC