hoops, loops and oops.

If only 'twas known
the sheer number of hoops
I have jumped through, of late.
The volume of mental loops and judgmental oops
I pulled after vast excavation
of the bare threads of existence
far outweighs any evidence in your favour,
and I can't decide what that means.
Every road seems a dead end,
every hope a pipe dream,
but even dead ends and pipe dreams are disputable,
right?
I've tried to gently tug at layers
of life-long armour
carefully constucted
to build a fortress,
and what a fortress it has become.
Complete, even, with a moat.
You know what (the ever ambiguous) 'they' say,
if you're going to get wet
you might as well go swimming.
So i did (for I am forever trying and testing what 'they' say),
I dove straight in,
tried to reach the depths,
tried to cross to shore,
tried to lower the drawbridge.
I've heard that there is no try,
there is only do or do not.
Oops.
Yet I am not done,
not now, not yet.
I plan to see my pipe dream
to the very end of my pipe,
will accept a dead end
only at the very deadest of ends.
Now I dutifully tell you
that the end is drawing nigh,
in my own bubbling indifference,
from a bubble too often burst.
There is a chance,
a small sliver of a chance cradled
by the moon,
(because sometimes even the moon
can only take so much waning),
so take it.

Enumeration

I'm sorry if I'm crass.
I'm a hint spiteful on days
when nothing matters.
They come too fast and too frequently
for my taste.

Bitter translates to
bitterish translates to
bitterness translates to
bittered.

(I've been brittle,
breaking,
broken,
barely breathing,
beneath it all,
bruised and
bare.
I've been battered
by debris of a life exploded,
a mind imploded,
a being overloaded.
I've begged.
Pleaded.)

Before it all would I have enumerated
the translations of bitter?

The Way I Feel These Days

If I could describe
the way I feel these days,
I'd say it's something like
a long lost friend,
so lost this friend
is almost a stranger,
knocking on my door.
And the deepest core of me,
some might call it a soul,
rejoices,
revels in the good company,
content and reminiscing.
I invite my friend
to the fireplace,
where we watch the flames dance
and remember what it's like
to feel good,
and we feel good.
We drink and talk away
the night, laugh,
make merry and bask
in the ever-warm glow
of this night.
Everything illuminated
by the gentle flickering
of candles
in the fireplace.
I am warm, calm,
life feels softer
than it has in years,
and it's becoming.
I've decided that I'm
far too good at ambiguity,
but this won't be ambiguous;
I'm touched,
peaceful,
at rest.
Happiness is home.