169.

My heart is breaking and I’m caught in a questioning with answers I don’t know how to side. Is it tearing apart because of too much, or too little? Is there a third option to admit that it’s both at once, and so this organ is no longer able to play its original tune.

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168.

I am incurably poor in a world that never stops talking. This is how I keep up, seeking solace at the edges though some rooms persist in a cornerless round. Quiet the flutter which arrives like that of a frantic winged creature in a steel cage. Find a plain unsuspecting wall for the mind to draw shapes on.

Yet for you, why — I will make sure that this limited change lasts.

165.

While they say that time is a construct, it’s difficult to think of it that way.

Time zones have a way of dividing everything: geography, space, time, feelings.

While I’m struggling through today, you’re already one foot into tomorrow.

Time zones have a way of making one feel left behind.

minus seven; one year ago

162.

I am angry

At the sun that sets while my fury is blazing

 

I am angry

At the planet that keeps spinning when there is a great evil invading

 

Monsters of the mind

There is a nail bomb set in a building

A rampant scattering piercing young innocent flesh

Crucified for the pleasure of the wicked

 

Monsters of the mind

There is a plane forced into a destination of none

Set flying to perpetuate a grieving of the land dwelling

An aircraft veiled as the mystery of Atlantis

 

If my words could take physical form

They are flaming arrows breaking into the lair of the corrupted

Purifying what shed blood cannot

 

If my words could take physical form

They are lit lanterns floating in the vengeful sky and crying streams

A cause to hope and love for those left behind

 

People are uncomfortable

To speak of race, gender, sexuality and religion

Associations that seem to divide humanity

 

People are uncomfortable

To understand the difference between equality and equity

To surrender a power held tightly to the chest

 

This is why I write

Be it a leaky pen or a furious typing

So that my words will teach the head how to dream and form a better tomorrow

 

This is why I write

Despite my clumsy stuttering and uncontrollable sobbing

So that one day there will be no more wars and cruel greed to turn family upon family.

160.

Is it preposterous that I am in want to protect you?

More so when it is only recent that I have come to know you. Somehow, slowly through moments miniscule, you have become unexpectedly dear to me. From the impulsive lending of the cap to asking if I’m doing okay, there are various sides to your easily won smile. The little things you do, showing that you care. Leaning forward, running to offer aid.

Came to me in the night you did, and I am grateful. Showing me a shadow that might cause alarm and distress, but it only made me want to hold you closer. Give me time, let me gather much armour, sword and shield to keep these disturbances away. Bring with us a light that never ends.

Sitting by the table just there, I cannot help but to watch you. Note the seldom serious look and the handsome haircut. Your hands, they relax on the surface before the next conversation gets them into expressive gestures. Quietly laugh.

Yes, perhaps it is preposterous to yearn protecting you. Though you stand tall and seemingly immovable, this is what you have done. Have me drawing one step closer.