Ebb and Flow

You reintroduced this term to me, used it often and found great assurance in your understanding of it. I developed further recognization of it, found disdain for the idea of it and began to further practise decisions on it. I claimed myself to be a rather high individual carrying the deep lows in life in general.

Somehow out of despair, rises the sweet heaviness of beautiful relief.
Is the ebb and flow what we feel – our reactions to occurrences outside our control? Or the reality of nature and our perceivement of it?

Your ebb has proven to be the tired, disengaged replica of a toothy snail. Your flow, the drunk in your drink. You release such ebb and flow in this manner.
If one feels the flow and ebb, but the other does not, does it cancel it’s existence?
Does the stillness in the ebb, furnish the room of flow? So much so, the greater the pullback of the ebb, the stronger sense of flow ?

Is it more difficult to be with someone who ebb/flows at stronger tide or who doesn’t? If both ebb/flows are similar, does it produce larger volumes of efficiency? Does life make more sense together or does ones ebb reflect the others flow and such accordingly so, that an elegant balance is discovered? Only to fall out of sync here and there thus, the supply of flow is full and becomes in demand?
Will my ebb and flow tell me about who I am? What will the origin reasons mean?

The ebb an flow of lava, surely is not the same as musty plastic pellets or clear, untouched chocolate milk?
How much damage does ebb/flow do? How beneficial, how much can we utilize the characteristics of it?
Do some people feel they need it more than others?
Are they higher risk of uncommmitance, with greater frustrations? Does it take more to satisfy them?

To label life as ebb and flow hardly seems necessary- yet we bring it naturally into our discrepancies to perhaps exhale some of the repercussions.
Ebb and flow is each our own natural state of the now. But is it?
How far does natural go, when you preempt the ebb/flow just to feel the lack of numbness?

Is this just manipulating the ebb and floofery? I flow so hard, I ebb.

Sometimes your ebb creates the perfect opportunity for my flow. And when I present with that, my flow dissolves your ebb. And I can’t decide if the term ebb and flow is just a way to describe sometimes our weak ability to accept our excuses.

Undetermined Truth

The splatter of confliction and confusion,
lines in layers
on her face.
Excitement and trepidation,
smuggle their way into the
bloodstream that carries her to bed.

Are these feelings misrepresenting
the facts?

She applies a resistance,
coated in steel warmth.
Takes the delight on a date,
entertaining alone
the origin of the undetermined truth.

Emerald Grip

The bite in your emerald mercy gives me an unprecedented currency of hope. And I don’t even like hope. It’s like stale pottery. It’s like trying to decline aging. 

The grip of urgency is at my numb fingertips. Just to pull myself closer to hear my breath smatter up against the brick wall I’ve banged my head upon for too long. 

Sense cannot be knocked into you like that. I promise. 

You whisper icicle thoughts that melt and drop deep into the caverns of my chambers. I don’t intend to lose myself looking for them. I have already lost myself with you time and time again.

But why the curious in what my heart pulls me towards? It’s me. Confusion can be handled wrapped in soft egg white fabric, and your emerald of reach is beautiful. 

Electric

The Christmas spirit sure drives moving anchors. Im grounded but I am growing. Time will fall out of its cabin, like I will crawl from my cocoon. i am not waiting for anything to click, i am just choosing celery over poptarts on a regular basis. i must instill patience. Even popcorn takes two minutes to become its edible cloud puff.
Internal electric does its course and i can be the source of forward moment. I just have to be best friends with Time .

Sool

You are the soulstice to my ever glowing nature. The soulutions I find in my everyday.
Your soulfullness resonates in my bones, that warm laundrified fuzzy blanket against bone skin.
How soulganic we are in our soulitude. You soulidify so much purpose in my being, that soulving kind of souldier, dedicated not to beat the problems, but to make them understood.
The absoulute of my breath, the consoulable feature of all teddy bear grub.
My resoulationial feats when I get stuck in mind mud. I’d stay in isoulation with you, fuel ourselves with our gasouline and live in the factual heat. That all of this means

you are my soul mate.

You’re Still Here

I think about you everyday. I miss you. I think about the what have I dones and the whys and why didn’t I and how could I and what was I thinking and in all of this, making some rational sense because sense without rational is like the national anthem without pride.
oh Life, I don’t want to disappoint you anymore.