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Eye of My Cyclone.

So I
prepare
for the inevitable,
mean to master the omnipresent,
stretch to embrace
self-authority,

for at the end of the day,
at the end of a life,
I am what remains.

Just me, my mind,
and our sadomasochistic relationship
until growth shows its face.

Finally, I see it peeking.

Now a leaf is finally turning,
scales suddenly tip by mind
as I study my own
tricks and traps.

What a puppet I have been for myself,
all while subliminally working to weave
others into my web.

Every act is stifling,
masques suffocating
me to death.

Lost my way.
Lost my values.
Blinded inner eye.
And it’s all right.

Finding direction now,
I slowly build inner strength.
Refusing to play my mindgames,
the attention whore drove of thoughts
begin to dissipate.

Emotions back up to let me breathe.
Longer periods of stable in me
as I keep slipping
into the eye of my cyclone.

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2 responses to “Eye of My Cyclone.

  1. This poem is a beautiful and encouraging message for me. Thank you-I for doing this work on yourself. I am doing this kind of work on myself, too. -Aaron

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