Poetry

Autopilot

The rises and falls are frequent,

somehow,

should there exist a possibility

of waves being locked in,

no,

waves being pumped from

this cardiac muscle?

The walls of my chest

must be holding

the bottom of an ocean,

A barrel, quite strong enough

to hold crests and troughs

A drum, so loud

so loud only when you’re near.

I could not be mistaken,

could I?

Science has taught me

that the moon can pull

all moving waters

the Earth cannot hold onto.

You must be made out of

the celestial bodies I’ve known

like the back of my hand,

affecting,

no,

messing

with all the supposed

gravitational pull,

How can you pull

all heartstrings in my chest,

the ones I can never hold onto?

I must be a planet.

The rises and falls are frequent,

somehow,

since when did my heart

start running on autopilot?

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Published by Ciello Maxin

Ciello Maxin

Ciello Maxin works with scissors—cutting metaphors in rhythm and blues, sewing it all together with nothing but threads of words pierced through the needle of poetry. Well, that's what she does metaphorically... Literally? She doesn't know what she's doing until she has started publishing most of her works at this online platform called Wattpad since late May 2015. She had never thought that poetry will make her come this far because she writes for a sole reason: to express everything she cannot say.

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