Rhythm & Blues

I understood her antipathy.

For even in my vulnerable moments, I could hardly swallow my own words.

And I knew she was different.

But somehow the forgotten became the recalled and I blacked out to insecurity where breathing was merely a way of survival and not a way to regain focus.

The cycle of cyclones spinning like windmills.

Reminiscing with anxiety, chanting peace is pouring into me, stuck in a blank stare.

I treasured the pain.

For it is what helped me forget to forgive.

And yet seek forgiveness in the same frame I was capturing visuals of stagnation.

Tears swelling behind my eyelids screaming, “I am not them!”

Truth is, I am the rhythm to the blues.

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