Waxing poetic on thoughts, theory & the times
I am tired,
Of the painful ache,
Of just,
Just always being out of reach of
A goal,
A something
A something good
That I have patiently waited for…
Desire is a sort of test,
A distraction;
What is not meant for you
Will not come,
No matter how long one waits;
What is meant
Will not pass you by.
Patiently, I bide my time.
I am not sure who
I am
Sometimes,
For I lose myself
In loving others
Selflessly,
Only to be the
Battered for
Their ram
My salty,
solitary tears
At times help,
Help me float
As I drift out,
Away,
always
Alone;
Lonely
I can not do it all,
Never was meant to,
I am tired
Of hurting,
And of being alone,
This way,
I fear
my heart calcifying;
And still of me
Demanded
Blood,
From this stone
At times, the possible evades us,
Not because it’s not there,
But because we’re too scared
To pick through the pieces of what we can see,
The mess,
The muck,
The unclear,
The overwhelm,
And that’s where anxiety brings us,
To see everything and
Nothing at the same time,
Look,
But closer,
Deeper,
One piece at a time,
Even a 1000 piece puzzle
Requires this discipline
She of Letters 