Some of us want a settled love. An enduring love. A love that grows from the seed to the harvest to the turning of the soil. Some of us contantly seed, only reaching the sprouting stages. Quite a few us are seedlings wanting to be care and for, nutured. With our being worth the harvest. We want the excitement that comes for reaching that high.

The sun was never close enough.

Stars not always seen,

The moon sometimes in the shadows…

Does this type of overreaching lead us to be late love consumers on an endless seedling season? We are always looked as strong and resilient seedling based on our will to live and not truly get that full measure of love. Love doesn’t supply oxygen or physical nourishment but the loss of it always takes your breath away and curbs your need for sustenance.

I’m not sure why I name this poem Blocking My Blessings and in some way I do. I felt like I was, though my spirit said this one will have you cross the line of reality.

Blocking my blessings

I have this warped idea of love

Mookie Toujour💜