Out With the Tide

I’ve frequently dabbled in posting my writing. Through the years writing has been my therapy; whether to clear my head, express feelings or simply to day dream. Instead of focusing on a monetary benefit or changing someone’s life, I simply hope to share.

And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt. — Sylvia Plath

lighthouse during golden hour
Photo by Todd Trapani on Pexels.com

The 5K

It’s like a runner’s high.
We feel that burn and we know we’ve made it.
Our legs are cramping as our feet pound the cement.
It was a race. It was a challenge. It was life.
And for these two years we ran, we won, we lived.

I guess when we have the runner’s high that maybe, we lose focus,
and we lost focus of our friendship.
The sweat is pouring down our faces blinding, as we try to be the first.
One took the straight path the other took the detour
then we traded places; we both dealt with difficult situations
but we kept running.

Did you think we’d end up running away from each other?
Both our bodies are exhausted, but we’re past the pain.
Our breathing is steady; ironic, when our lives never have been.
I can feel myself slow. I watch as you keep pushing through this terrain of hell
and leave me with the fires burning.

I continue the race still ahead of others, but I’m walking,
Slowing down observing everything we’ve passed; that we took for granted.
You can win this race, it doesn’t matter. We’ll still see each other at the finish line.
I’d rather cherish what few memories I have. I’d rather let this all soak in
so at the finish line I can look at you and smile, even when I don’t feel like it.

Cycle Breaker

A heritage of harm

A tribe of trauma

A pedigree of punishment

Such beautiful alliterations of anguish

Decadent words for a distraught bloodline

Suffering can seep into the seed

When ancestors antagonized for pleasure, how can descendants advance?

Illness can infect kinfolk

When predecessors embrace poverty as normality, how can the progeny prosper?

Rape can ruin roots

When victimization is seen as breeding, how can normality ever succeed?

I have no more flowing synonyms to describe such atrocities being swept underneath stained rugs

I am out of hinting hyperboles and void of oxymorons in my cluttered tormented mind

No more repeating. No more pain. No more cycles.

No more acceptance of intergenerational abuse.

It ends with me.