Circling Cycles

I stand amid the habitual buzz and bustle

Failed by the remarkable strength which always carries me along with the throng

Drowned by the intensity of my pursuits and the weight of my duties

Alone in a crowd too absorbed in their cares to perceive

Transiting into a phase of weariness

The kind that makes being strong Herculean

And the possibilities of vulnerability, enticing

Though at the peril of susceptibility to sheeply preys

Propriety restricts my impulses to scream

The resolve which I currently detest refrain me from letting loose the waterworks

Today, I withdraw my shoulder and palm of comfort from my burdeners

As I scurry off in search of that which will serve me

Albeit, vulnerability be attractive

With a long to, without restraint, bare my heart to the unjudging

And at once, at loss as to whom it might be

As these who were, are losing ground hold.

Without doubt, there are those with honest hearts and profound intentions

Nonetheless, I do not will to reveal

For fear of being distinguished as that which I currently desire to be...

Faint!

So unclear, uncertain and uncommitted

I tow around on me the weight of my pent-up sufferings

Frustrated by the vividity of unshed concerns

Who in themselves are of no State import

Yet, possess a sensitivity that makes revelation a work of care

The eventuality of this phase is the surety that my detested strength will return

At a calculated moment of undeniable acceptance, complete with open embrace

Accompanied by a duty to be her I used to be

And a recall to pended obligations

With irritation that is self-directed

I re-receive the unattended 

Then reflect on the carousel that has become me.

Coup de Coeur

Just like a sore that wouldn’t heal,
Contentiously secreting contaminant puss,
He surges through the vessels of that heart,
Invading every space and eliminating the welcome,
Taking charge of a kingdom he has no right visiting..
 

All efforts to excommunicate become futile.
It is as though a siege occurred in a moment of forgotten relapse.
Then in surrender, thoughts of adjustments are birthed.
But this reign will tolerate no communion.
 

What shall then be done?
Torn between the "Upside Down" worlds,
With attempts at whisking the oil and water that will not merge;
Living neither there and nowhere nor here and somewhere.
 

On this rule that leans over life-length,
The bitter-sweet-sour merry-go-round that spins the world into a blur;
How shall I settle?
Indeed, doomed it seems I have become

OUTLET

These teardrops roll down my blushed cheeks
Those, usually mistaken for weakness
Those that are an expression of actual passion

 
Of anger when I love too much to bark an endless spiral of condescending words
Of hurt when I feel a literal pain in my heart having been dealt a blow by someone perhaps too close
Of disappointment when I am stunned by the actuality of him held in esteem

 
Of a physical evacuation of the venom that wells within me
An alternate to utterances whose eventuality would be regret
Shed to leave the soul purified and the heart without grievance
These tears, I shed