All want a higher power(other) to provide prayers, miracles, and grace—
Who is checking on THEM?
…tipping the scales back even.
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#poetry
Intrepidly ignoring intolerable invitations, I instantly internalize my ignited indignations. Instead, Insipidly investing in intonated insinuations—inevitably injuring myself with incised idolations.
Thoughtful Thurs. Threads — I
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The path UP, will never be:
As hard as the fall DOWN.
Two Liner Tues.
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Title: Deathbeat
Feeling like a deadbeat,
Can feel like Death’s heartbeat.
Knowing it was out of your control…
does not control you knowing that you failed.
Never getting the chance back is always more detrimental—
Then the truth of being:
non-instrumental.
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Hazily hounding hungover headaches heatedly hamper my harpooned headspace.
The Hangman’s hilt hits my humped-over neck—hammering dishonorable honesties into my un-humble head.
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Love doesn’t live here anymore—
Here anymore…I don’t live to love.
Two liner Tues.
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Title:
Quixote’s Quixotic Crossing
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Whether corporeal,
Or a truth so real it shakes you to the core: the ghost that haunts you can benefit no more.
Follow my Flutter for more —>
Galloping with a gravity-like gait, I gratingly greet egregious guardians of greed. Gallantly grabbing, gripping, and groping their way through the generally gentrified gentiles; generating generational gaping wounds.
The beginning of any truth
outweighs the end of any lie.
Canto 9 —
Frantically fiddle-faddling through my fuzzy, frazzled, and fractured mind. I’m free-falling into finality. Fortuitously fortifying my floundered frustrations.
Thoughtful Thurs. Threads — F
Follow me @crhodespoetry on Instagram and @threads!!
Love does not conquer all.
It conquers all of you.
Canto 2
Eerily easing, end-over-end, egressing my exasperated exit-strategy. I experiment with exhausting experiences, exiling my own elation. Expounding, exponentially, the enduring events I have evaded.
Weekly alliteration I do on Thursdays.
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Fate does not tell you what to do, only how to do it —
you do not follow it, but find it.
Is it my lot to always be Confidant,
yet never one's Corazón?
How the Earth could not go on without its Sun and Moon—
You made me truly understand.
Two-liner Tues.
The beginning is always today...
Laura Makabresku
• The Strong Force •
Every time you ask “why me?”
I think, “how could it not be you?”
It’s like asking a planet
why it circles its star—
that’s where its warmth emanates—
its life, its pull, its reason to move at all.
Without it,
no happiness.
no soul.
no warmth.
She works tirelessly, like Atlas,
Holding up everyone’s sky.
I want to be her Heracles—
To offer her the Golden Apples,
For she’s the apple of my eye.
Title: Atlas Loved
Just something I concocted a couple of hours ago 🤭
All jokes, no malice. Signed, a Libra who can’t make a decision either ⚖️.
All jokes, no malice. Signed, a Libra who can’t make a decision either ⚖️.
Demons directing dire straits.
Echoes—erroneously eating away at the easel of my mind.
This is my alliteration for my ‘Thoughtful Thurs Threads’ I do each week on @Threads and Instagram. Doing A–Z, and then will probably go back through the alphabet. Check me out on either @crhodespoetry and I will be beginning to post here as well. Happy to meet everyone. 🤗
Doomscrolling dauntingly, descending deliriously—I digress into disgust—dastardly dildos with dickhead mustaches, deeply denying their disastrous deeds—divided we stand, derided we fall—the Doomsday clock denotes our downward drift, drafting us with deceit—diluted. Destroyed. Dead.
A single shoe in the snow—
No footprints — long since erased.
| 2-liner Tues |
Title of the piece above is:
The Jester’s Privilege
Just posting a couple of my more recent works. Find more on my Instagram/Threads. I’m slowly assembling all my work on the linktree. All views, shares, follows, and support is appreciated and welcomed! 🤗
Look for my two liner Tuesdays and Thursday alliterations. 👀
“A clown of the court”,
But of whose? My own.
The truths I speak,
Run deeper than bone.
Callously critiquing my pain and failings.
Why do I allow this? —
These points so impaling.
When I approach the scales,
And my heart is lighter than the feather,
It won’t be due, to the doing of good deeds,
But because I’m scarred and weathered.
— The Weight of a Heart —
