Before diving into another busy week, I wanted to sit these poems here. They were inspired by writing prompts that I came across in my interactions on Threads, that new app by Instagram that seems to be taking off in the best of ways.
Backstroking in the Ocean
Swim in denial but
not much more than a dip,
that trip goes on for infinity,
who said that it was just
a little river?
Instant gratification a need,
pleasure seeking endlessly.
Just me, afraid to face me.
So I can’t blame a single soul
that I’ve encountered while floating,
After a while
my inhales became shallow
Breast stroke the best for that mode.
Epiphany brings a sigh
upon reaching a land
that I was likely always searching for.
By the way, check out my Threads account. I have found some pretty amazing and talented individuals on that app.
I Promise. Gloomy Becomes Glowing.
“This place kind of sucks,
I see you sitting, your face painted with
obscurity – I think I know what you’re
feeling. It sits heavy in you.”
This one book
in this one place
of dim reflections as fragmented light.
I hope that I recalled that accurately. I might not have.
“My friend, hold on. Gloomy becomes
glowing and trust me, I’m knowing how
difficult it is to cross that threshold.”
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Shine a Light? On Whom?
If things done in the dark come to light
who’s duty is it to unearth the dirt done by others?
May I pick and choose my plight?
I’ll shine a light upon the self righteous.
No one is righteous enough to not face God
or an “aha” moment as they wither away,
contingent on their beliefs.
I meticulously choose when to let this tone resurface.
I promise I’m not too much.
Pick audience, tweezing out the naysayers,
the best way to be choosy to me.
Fitting moment to share a recent post, Are There Cultural Aspects to “Not Having a Voice?”
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