That awkward moment

When i talk about how you hurt me
And at the disbelieving, half jesting
Look on your face

Can neither pretend i was joking
And laugh it away
Nor plod on like a battering ram
And shatter your mood

Becoming and being

When you spend all your emotions on the journey
There is sometimes nothing left for the destination

of my smallness

It was the kind of love that, sooner or later, cornered you into a choice: either you tore free or you stayed and withstood its rigor even as it squeezed you into something smaller than yourself.
- And the mountains achoed

This time he says it so well, that I have nothing to add

Straitjacket

A person changes a hundred times in a single day

I have found enlightenment so many hundreds of times

I wonder what it does to an enlightened guru,
Buddha for instance
When appearances forbid him to change his doctrine
After he obtains a second enlightenment

Middle aged rage

Unhappy little boys sloshing around in their own rage. They feel wronged. They haven't been given their due. No one love them enough.
- and the mountains echoed

And when they deny that they need affection
And make it even more plain
For all the world l see
What they truly want

Why do i still stay away
And refuse to give them
Exactly that

Because people like them
Are like wells that come out
On the other side of the world

Take and take and take
Until my resources are depleted
But still pine over
Their wasted childhood

PTSD

Dead fifteen years, but in my dreams, i murder him anew every night.
- george r r martin in a game of thrones

Twenty years gone
Of you throttling my innocence

Ten years I wandered the grey forests
Of despair and confusion
Blaming myself

Ten more i took to look it in the face

And at the end of every day now,
I tell myself I have
Come to terms with it

And yet,
Everyday
In my dreams,
The shame surrounds
And drowns me
Anew

what happens to stacked negativity

the keenly sharped arrows of arguments
that i will never use
on the person i intend them for
whom i will hurt at no cost

instead, from inside my head
they will poke and puncture my mood
to bloody tatters

(and when they lose their edge,
their rust will seep into
many genial moments in the future,
giving me the worst version of sunset evenings)