The Words We Chose

Wincing at the prospect
Of disrobed grandiosities
Anointed in aseptic clarity
In qualitative analyses of
Ill-conceived singularities
Of appraisals in weighted
Throngs for those sparsities
In searing happenstances
Of cajoling reversals passing
In aching vertices, throbbing
In diminishing revisitations
Of bleached longings nullified
In aims at perfections.

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Days In Her Room

Everyday
She folded
Origami paper
Since she learned
Sheets of paper
Could be folded into form.

The first
She created
Had numerous creases
In the wrong places
Inciting frustration
In finding the angles
To make the shapes
To follow the steps
To reach its formation.
With determination
She reached her objective.
She stared at her piece,
Infested with lines of imperfections,
As her heart swelled with pride,
She smiled.

There are days
She sits in her room
Surrounded by her creations
And suppresses the urge
To crush.

-Sabs-