It is one thing to own your own opinion,

And an entirely different thing to know

When -not- to give it...

----------------------------------------

Be careful that you do not confuse

Being "opinionated"

With being obnoxious...

I'm walking on sunshine leaving "sin" shaped footprints
sipping on rainbows seeking to elevate...
Stevie Wonder. Your rose-colored glasses are useless
all i hear are actions, sans words. they're truthless

...my "escapism" is -so- sophisticated...

if i could re-write history
in words like piano keys
(each tone strikes a cord
until we are both in harmony)
then i would write "we" a symphony,
serenade you with stars,
and up-beat flute music
through depression in our hearts.
i would bend reality to my will
all for your "i will"...

I should make this into a youtube someday. Someone get on me about it and make sure I do? Please and thank you! :)


Airplanes: B.O.B. ft. Hayley Williams
(this is just the rap rewritten, perhaps the podcast is to come...)

Can we pretend that airplanes
In the night sky
Are like shooting stars
I could really use a wish right now (wish right now, wish right now)
Can we pretend that airplanes
In the night sky
Are like shooting stars
I could really use a wish right now (wish right now, wish right now)


I’m wishin on falling stars that come from my eyes
You can call them tears, I call them scars of a former life
I got my back to the wall straight swingin -miracles-!
Like a black single mother. understand that it’s spiritual…
So, I’m wishing on falling scars with the ruefullest grin
Wishing that it’s the last one that I see, again
I know I’m not supposed to tell what I'm wishin' 'bout
But I’m hoping that, for once, I can wish out loud…
Soliloquist conversations: “Dear Self
I ain’t got much left, and it’s all on the top shelf
It seems like all I do is keep on coming up short"
And by Self I mean God, I hope you’re listenin, sport
And by ‘sport’, I mean me. God lookin' MIA
What’s the address to Heaven, so I can On-star Him the way?
I know You know where I live, but You ain’t visited in so long,
That, no disrespect, I thought I’d help You along…


Can we pretend that airplanes
In the night sky
Are like shooting stars
I could really use a wish right now (wish right now, wish right now)
Can we pretend that airplanes
In the night sky
Are like shooting stars
I could really use a wish right now (wish right now, wish right now)


I put my -soul- on a track til my eyes drip reality
And I can’t hear what you say cause life steady shout at me
If you could only understand what my life is truly like…
if you were only able to see me at night…
Then you might understand my thoughts and my fears
The nightmares that attack when you’re not in my ear
The only thing that I fear…is sleep and my dreams
Die a little every day, something’s gotta change. Yah mean?
I’m swear’n my dreams and Christ are all I’ve got left
Plus my word and my balls, my pen and my fam, def
They’re talking slick promises, but never can deliver
The “she”s keep saying “forever” when they really mean “never”
I’d settle for “right now”, if it was absolute
And I’d settle for being hurt, if it was all truth
But I’ll settle for nothing. I want the whole pie, or no grease
No, what I -would- settle for is a little peace and true sleep…


Can we pretend that airplanes
In the night sky
Are like shooting stars
I could really use a wish right now (wish right now, wish right now)
Can we pretend that airplanes
In the night sky
Are like shooting stars
I could really use a wish right now (wish right now, wish right now)


(B.o.b. Airplanes lyrics found on http://www.directlyrics.com.com/bob-airplanes-lyrics.html)

Breathe deeply of this portrait of America that was,
and the America that fights to still be

Found in the back corners of Rockwell paintings
Or lurking inside of empty Mason-jar cups
Where Cool Whip containers become Tupperware
And cups hold re-usable chicken grease
Where Soul Glo’s the hair grease
Picks proclaim Black Power
And every kid is raised by the Nana on the block
Where the fire hydrant sprays like an aquatic dragon
During the hottest of days in the city’s inner streets

America the Beautiful, from purple mountains to potholes
Where every person may pursue the happiness that they choose
My country of origin, the land of my birth
Where my flesh will one day fertilize the earth

America the Beautiful, where eagles fly high
Even after nine-eleven and nine years of “why?”
How beautiful the child’s smile, dimpled with innocence
The wino on the corner opening doors, so chivalrous
The dream and reality. Immigrants and slaves
Manifest Destiny and Tea in the Bay
Coble-stone streets and horse-drawn Amish folk
Stove-pipe hat, eyes of coal, and a button-nose

Where Miss Ella and Sara both sang songs to soothe
And Lady Day sang of Strange Fruit and the blues
The melting pot where “wrong” and “right” sometime seem relative
And any living man may well be your relative

Yellow and black men; red, brown, and white
An entertainer in a G5, a Mormon on a bike
Saturday soul-winning, sawdust-floor revivals
It’s about city-street cleaning and community survival
A plethora of differences, but everything in common
No kings or royalty; you have money, or you’re common
“In God We Trust” as we breathe and stretch
Overpopulation? “Young man, go West!”
Welfare, Healthcare, and HMOs
401k’s and movies named “Blow”

This aromatic air smells of coffee flavored skin
Of butterscotch and buttermilk
White chocolate and mint
Of licorice and chocolate
Bananas and mango
All manner of people, religion, and bent

Be careful how you breathe for the paint is still wet
The edges are still rough, so some colors are seen as threats
This imperfect perfection, the dream of a globe
This “Beautiful, for spacious skies…” country holds my -soul-

I sip on carbonated dreams, and burp disappointment
Where alcoholics sell potential for a bottle of regret
With “2” much oxygen, it's a “placebo effect”
Just…remove a single atom, and we can make this a threat
So, when carbon one-oxygen flows from my throat
Jus turn the volume up, roll the windows up, and toke
…which just -might- explain why Hip-Hop died
He rolled Wisdom in my written and asked for a light…
He puffed, puffed, passed and told me to get right
But, caught up in reading, I lost four minutes of my life
While women stare at coke bottles for inspiration
And dream of men staring with hopes of perspiration
Searching for stereotypes amidst aspirations
While some search for Life in an Aspirin bottle
Setting fire to expectation and possibility…
I’m amused by the smoke-shapes traced in burning dreams…

I’m not looking for forgiveness; I’m looking for a resolution
I’m not looking for “I’m sorry”, I’m looking for a solution
I’m not looking for fans, I’m looking for a revolution
I’m not looking for reparations, I’m looking for restitution
I’m not looking for how, I’m looking for “know how”
I won’t settle for “some day”, I’m looking for right -now-!
Now the auctioneers are children at show-and-tell
With slave-block opportunities to cubicle hell
Discouraged to reach for anything higher than college
Taught to lean on Affirmative Action and live with blue collars
Like we got too many entrepreneurs, athletes, and authors
And need to slow down on the astronauts, billionaires, and doctors
Stereotype rappers, but they’re the clothing industry
Holding sway with market value, while surrounded by envy
Hip Hop is so “hip” that even white kids “Crip” (walk)
And being “functional” is dissed…isn’t -that- a trip??

As the dysfunctional diss functional lives
I portray a trap as seen through the escapee’s eyes
The encouragement to reach out for a 9 to 5
As though it’s too hard for blacks to reach for “the sky”
Like teaching sight reading post 1965
When it was disproven to work 40 years before…
Nearly forfeited my future among fallen angels
Who refuse to acknowledge Halos askew…
When it seemed that my destiny was insanity
I survived off of bong hits of eternity,
I drink deeply of the poisonous taste of her “love”
I have learned to survive, and even thrive on it
I’ve traded spittle with derision, tasting death on her tongue
I’ve been bitten by deception…the venom left me numb
I turned my back to the world and showed the tattoo in warning
With my head to the sky…asking God for the morning

…

Let the brilliance of His wisdom pierce the darkness of ignorance,
ending the nuclear winter of the fall-out of bad choices
As His warm, embracing arms mute the gloom of despair
Take your burdens to the Lord and just…-leave- them there…
Amen

follow me at: http://twitter.com/trufullyspeakin

full name: sXe

email: silentexpression@gmail.com

Or you can just click here

I hear God in the pained pleas of a race misrepresented
And single mothers blessing sons as they send them off to orphanages
Or rather daycare centers and public plantations
Of the mass programming of government -slaves-, and
I’m expressing my “behave” in 16’s of -redemption-
Redeeming a lost race through the strength of the inkpen
So, if convicts and liars can speak for my race
Than I’m an ambassador from God, blind from lookin at his face
So I can’t see your race, see through your lies and speak revenge, then
We’ve been deceived by the Serpent to think that black requires -repentance-!
Repopulate your memory banks with physical blanks
So that, even when guns fire, you’re reminded of why we’re -great-
Ricochet between generations and missing pages
From middle passage traveling on ghost-skin slave ships
With foes missing souls who would seek to enslave men
My history and ancestry’re re-forged through every statement

I try to tell them that sometimes it’s not as simple as all that
And sometimes you have a dig a bit to find the -real- facts
And sometimes the truth is just out of sight or under cover
So tough love is exposing the foolish and pulling back the covers
To display the nakedness of Pharaoh’s new suit
You see, I was -born- with the ingenuity they’re selling to you!
They keep tryin to tell me -not- to reach for the sun
As though I were Icarus with wax wings. Haven’t you seen Olympics? We -run-!
I tell them I was -born- dark from staring at the Son’s face
And I’m tired of using Jesse Owens to run the human race
I’m so tired of athletic stereotypes,
That I’m yelling “stop the presses!” to reset the type
And - use the organization of the -first- world power
To rewrite the world with the first paper’s power
Scratching prophetic scriptures on papyrus scraps
Handing them down through generations and redressing them as -rap-

Using the sophistication of -slaves- to redress the human race
Til everybody got “ghetto soul”, trynna dress like my face
So tired of ostracized style, speech, and race
That we re-sold “blackface” to former masters and took their place!
Now -their- kids try to strut with the limp of hurt slaves
And sag jeans like pants denied a belt in the cage
So if you believe in evolution, then I have evolved to fly higher
With light pockets, black cards, all-around envied choirs and
The Cradle of Civilization locked somewhere in my soul
The Birth of Creation in my feet…you should watch me go!
It looks like I’m convinced that I’ve captured the rhythm of the universal dance
Stamp my feet, to crush a style. Snap fingers, to create a dance
Krumpin like David catchin the spirit of the Lord, shoutin
“The second-largest continent couldn’t contain my people”, we bout it
We ‘bout risin above. Livin dreams, and truth shoutin
Look – we took twenty-eight days, and birthed a -president- out of it!

We -Major-!!!

I speak experience from streets, never a pulpit when I preach
On Blakk beats. From misunderstood and misbegotten weeks
And days – or even -years- of repressed expression
Now I’m reaching for the stars like the -ground- just went missing!
I scribe with Hypodermic needles…can you feel what I’m spittin?
I’m flowin water on to paper, God walkin in my written
I paint a picture like a paintbrush is attached to the inkpen
Writin “paint” on the easel. I’m just the dope the world’s fiendin
I “hawk up” the past of slaves, expectorate on your “behave”
You expect me to be ashamed? Of my history, or chains??
They say “reverse racism” when I remember the past
Reference what blacks have done, gain some pride and show some class
But I laugh at another attempt to confuse and subdue me
They claim me like my hair: unmanageable and unruly
But…I’ve never been the type that would lick a cowlick
I’m more…dreaded locks and a soliloquy that’s -sick-!


There go the pimp/preacher in his corner-store church
Leasin absolution when they pass collection plate
Hope’s for sale from Dixie cups in his Cadillac hearse
As he pretends to have relevance – to the crime rate
With a fresh pair of gators and a crocodile-smile
He wouldn’t go an -inch- to help you, let alone the extra mile
…I think I just felt my words break Mach one
Because you feel what I’m sayin ¬-before- I’m even done
Like decrying them corner-store orphanages
Where fatherless children are raised to make more orphan kids
And single mothers are slaves to the stereotypical perception
Of a world that cannot forgive that fateful misconception
That led to a decision of responsibility
And a mother that didn’t want it, but accepted what had come to be
She’s doing the best that she can to make a man out of me…
-That’s- why we worship our mothers, like they just gave us “free”


I disparage intellectual fools with false hypotheses
Spoutin foolish wisdom with the confidence of prophecies
…my people, let Pharaoh go!
My people…LET. PHARAOH. GO! …or just drink the Kool-aid
I’m on the corner of Forever, pushin -wisdom- as a hustle!
Flowin words banned for -excellence- to illustrate the struggle
I called myself Christ’s brother, and thought it not robbery (son of God)
Said I was made in God’s image, so I thought it not mockery (Genesis 1:27a)
To pray in the mirror. Askin God to remake me
Til I reflect the Son’s glory, like a spiritual moon, b
My flow is a pole that could’ve caught Jonah’s Big Fish
But I’m throwin -men- hooks and lines like, “ay yo! Catch this!”
Drawin men to Christ like Michelangelo’s canvas (Creation of Adam)
Conversation with God, steady prayin like a Mantis
It’s by King James’s name that I spit in prophetic sentences
The living sixty-fifth-book-after-Genesis…(how’s -that- for truth?!?)



- Revelations

We started out walkin. Maybe dancin to the beat.
Now we’re being played like a guitar, then hung up by the strings
Of those who rewrite words until you aren’t even sure what they mean
And don’t have the time or car to vote if you could even see
What they’re trying to do, and what they really mean
And we’re -so- afraid of being labeled the same
As those to whom history is foremost on the brain
That we iron out the brain waves to flat line like good slaves
Still slavin to the idea that we were born to behave
But I was born to rebel. Let the truth tell and raise Hell
Until it’s Heaven. Because Hell is in your mind if you’re not burning

With the same passion as my written. My brain’s itchin
I’m scratchin the truth from strained days
While y’all freebase lies to your main veins
And I’m still confused by those who refuse to believe that they’re slaves…

“I freed a thousand slaves I could have freed a thousand more if only they knew they were slaves.” – Harriet Tubman

As though the chains -have- to be physical instead of metaphysical
Psychological. Sociological. Stereotypical. Unethical.
If you’re not the stereotype then you are no longer black
Or Negro, or Negron, or African-American…
-Anything- but “American”. Everything -plus- “nigger”
Nobody wants to know about your history, “nigger”!
Why don’t you pick some cotton, kids are watchin
Don’t tell ‘em to strive to be free!
Middle finger to the cops, so when -they- pop
They feel justified killing you and me
So rap against the top, but don’t you stop
To bring them truth from in the lies
…it’s like the Maryland slaves from 1862 to ‘65
We ain’t trynna get -paid-…we trynna be -free-!

One state away from the truth amidst the lies…

Just do your nine-to-five. Don’t try to bring it live
Forget your history. Don’t you reach for the sky,
Reach for tech schools because -Dreams- are the lie…

Now -his- story is the same as -my- story,
Is the same as -her- story, is the same as -his- income..
Now blacks are callin whites “nigga” because of the state of -their- income
As though a mark of the skin is taken in measure with the – income
Now I hit the deck like they declared a threat,
when they ask about – my income
Because – incoming! – ideas are bombarding my “peers”
With challenges to action, and the lies they’re accustomed to hear
And the truth they -won’t- seek out,
The potential they -don’t- talk about
And an ingrained hatred for authority that has been taught to fear -us-!...

While, we fear -them- for the color of -our- skin
And misunderstandings that no one is interested in.
What men don’t understand, they usually tend to hate
So they hate -our- sagging pants, while we hate -their- threatening stance
And “can’t we all just get along” sounds like a fool.
“No, we can’t!”
Spits the kids taught to lie when looking cops in the eye
Taking a “necessity” and making it into a life
He’s on the corner “getting by” sowing seeds that ruin lives
Because it’s not -just- the addicts, felons have it hard in life.

Now, as he learns a few things from the “inside”
They start to fear that he has gained insight
So he is no longer allowed, or even given an invite,
To vote, by some states, for the rest of his life
Denied the fifteenth amendment…now, who -doesn't- own your life???
Who -doesn't- own your rights??
And who told -you- that you were -right-?
…
It may not be the issue that only white is right
But the poor wise man is somehow still despised (Ecclesiastes 9:15-16)
So rich fools cavort, as we call their wealth “wise”
…
We’re torn apart by divisions.
Misunderstanding the strength of schisms
Creatin prisons with religion…
…and the truth goes unheard
When fornication is just a verb
And aborted “fetuses” are drowned
In our prolific words
Rappers -should- be held accountable for spittin that “yah heard”
Supplyin that demand. We’re hooked on bein “the man”
Now rap’s the new drug, rappers the pushas, actors the “thugs”
And we are drowning in our own hubris…

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

…But -my- race is -not- done…



- Revelations

[This is sort of a follow-on to "Spittin Wisdom", and the pre-cursor to "The New Wisdom (Penny for your Thoughts, Fifth for your Penny)"]



I Crip walk and crow hop as my lips pop and fingers snap,
hips swaying to the beat
As men raise their hands and Slap! The other in a rhythmic trance.
And raise the other hand and Slap! on the face
Of a single mother, to put her back in “her place”
And women say it’s ok, it’s just because he loves her
The man says it’s ok, it’s because she doesn’t love him
But what they don’t understand
Is why the children
no longer love
…them…

Listen to my words, as they wind between the beats
Like belly dancers in Middle Eastern countries
Or children sold to win’ between the sheets
As my ear is attuned to listen to the sound
Of the funny cars, as they fly by
Like Negron stars, with their eyes to the sky
Who pass by those of my generation
Who seem frozen by the Gorgon stare endemic of the race
Stuck in the past.
As slaves are kept in place with the whips and the chains
Slaving to a government oligarchic, not “of the people”
“Blinging” with shiny metal on their mechanical “whips”
As they pay for the chains that are -still- used to define “us”
From which they hang the head of God who’s name they take in vain
As the previous generations hang their heads in shame
At the disrespect and disregard for authority, age, and tradition.
Deicidal children are deified by a society that will willfully immortalize
The horrors that men can do claiming a need to survive
or that “only God can judge me”
Brothers kill brothers for fear of showing vulnerability
Though their weakness is the fear to show anything but strength
Because true strength is found in facing your own weaknesses
Not giving in to, and using your fears
But we are as weak as our projected strength, and blinded by the irrational fear
Of being perceived as less than another
for a conspicuous lack of those physical things
Which “they” have taught us to use to define “us”
But, even were I arraigned, jewelry would not define “us”…
For the “funny cars” have flashing lights in blue and red
Cars: black-and-white. Free bracelets made of steel,
With a correlation for each wrist
As the “whip” flies faster with a flick of the wrist
And a flash of the lights, and sirens “make way”
But it is not just “their” fault, for as tribal chiefs
Sold the first slaves on the Ivory Coast
We allow ourselves to be “massa’ed” by the very beat that we used to define “us”
From back when “they” took all of that which defined “us”
And redefined “us”, that we may more easily conform
To the ideal slave that “they” would have made the “norm”
But now, we refuse to learn from our history, now made free to us
Though it is not all in history books, for true wisdom must be sought out
But we cannot learn from the past, when we are still stuck in it
And we cannot move forward into the future, until we reconcile with the past
…As the true slaves of days gone past, scream and roll over in their graves
For this is -not- what they fought, suffered, and died for
And we are merely living life for one day more
Crabs in a bucket: mass emancipation without proper planning
Was the confounding of our Tower of Babel,
For what do we have to fight, if we perceive the battle won?
And thus begins the true battle, for we wage war against ourselves
And those who would rest on the laurels that they did not earn
Demanding reparations for their father’s father’s lives…and their mother’s too
But it is the -curse- of the former generations that passes down to the present
Very rarely do the blessings inherit. Because blessings inherit the meek.
The meek do not inherit the blessings.
For, when the meek inherit the earth,
they still must clean up the mess that we have left behind
I’m not saying that it’s fair, I’m just saying that that’s Life

“Those who do not learn from the past are doomed to repeat it”
And if by “those” we mean “us”, then must not we define “us”?
For “know thyself” is but a basic axiom,
And, if the “beam” is in our eye, then why bother with the “moat” in the all-seeing “I”?
Or trying to put a Black face on currency?
Because, currently, we can barely handle The President that is carrying office
Or the responsibility of having one of “our” race in power…
So, it is essential to establish the paradigm of “us”
Before moving on to the more pressing problems that assail this generation, nation, and globe.

So tell me…how do we define “us”??

I have often been told
To “reach for the stars”
But
I wish to be
What it is
That “the stars” reach for

My mother told me
(when I was a child)
That I could be
Anything
That I wished to be
Anything
That I could imagine...

For fear of change,
I tried to kill my imagination.
But it was stronger
Than I had imagined it to be…

In desperation,
I killed every other “me”
That could ever be
So that I may continue to be

ME

And continue
To Dream

…

I have traded the world for Dreams…

Decide now, one day you may have to choose...


(this is not pertaining to any one thing, actually. This is more of a general concept. Many times in life, people are faced with decisions that they are not prepared for. More often than not, they choose the wrong one on-the-fly. I say, as much as possible decide -now-. You never know when it may come down to a either-or choice.

(People often ask me if I am religious. It used to be "You could say that", then it evolved to, "I don't really consider myself religious". Now? "No. I am -not- religious.")

Religion.
Relationship.

...one will lead you to Heaven. The other...Hell. - Myron Golden (paraphrased)

Choose carefully.

My worth cannot be measured in money

…“pay” me attention

“Rights” are on loan,
and “Freedom” is the collateral.
“Sacrifice” is the payments,
and “Tyranny” the lien holder.
“Apathy” and “Inactivity” are merely the repo men
("All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing" Edmund Burke)

…perhaps you should “pay” (more) attention
To the sacrifices made every day for -your- freedoms

One day you may not be willing, or able,
To pay the price of inattention…

"Paying" attention is the most expensive thing that you could -ever- do...

------------------

Paying attention is so expensive and expressive because you have a finite amount of "time" and, once given, you can -never- get it back...

(I have a -very- hard time understanding how someone can claim to love another, yet to not have time for that same person.
The point is not if you -have- time, but if you will -make- time!)
Make time for what (and -who-) you love. While you still can...

Don't -give- up;
-get- up!
(Proverbs 24:16a)

Everything in life is a choice,
Even -Especially- unhappiness.
and failure

...

choose carefully

Take me, the box, for instance. In instants
Not stereotyped or predicted to doom
Look beyond the label for a minute. Look in it.
My seal of freshness keeps you from the truth
Were you to break the labels you might be surprised
You might even see, if you would open your eyes
I am -much- more than my packaging. Besides,
I can’t fit my story on paper…

Take me, the man, for instance. What is this?
You quantify the limitless with limited views?
What would you do were I, for instance,
To tell you, write to you, and show you the truth?
I’ve been preserved, in the public eye,
As a menace long before there was an “I”
As self-evident truths seek foreclosure
My shelf-life is limited by exposure
To the very enclosure in which they seek to confide
The body of a man whose mind soars free
I am beautifully black. I have nothing to hide
“I will fear no man…” but they fear -me-.

They keep expecting -my- box to fix -their- description
When the “writing on the wall” would be a better inscription
What they expect of me and what they want are two different beasts
So the world -and- my family hold the edge of their seats
They perceive in me a threat…
All of this and I haven’t even opened my mouth, yet
The -inside- of me is -outside- the box
But -inside- the box is the -outside- of me
Some times I’m so confused…
Which one do they mean when they say be “true to me”?

“Thick of lips with wooly locks, skin a richly dark complexion
Temper colored as the skin, most likely married to a weapon”
All this, and more, am I labeled; falsely, sure!
Not that the truth it lacks, but in me, box, there’s more...

-So- much more.

I have asked God for "peace that passes all understanding"
I fill my quiet moments with trying to understand it
I am endlessly thoughtful

Besides: "good" is a state of mind.
and, as "of the mind",
mine is in a State ruled by me.
So, if i am -not- doing "good",
then, perhaps, it is my -definition- that is faulty.
Or, perhaps, I should not be the one
who is ruling my mind...

I have remembered how to relinquish control to Him.
He has never let me down.
And, sometimes, it is easier to follow
then it is to lead...

Yes, I am doing "good". How are you??

(And, yes. For all you grammarians out there, I know that "good" should be "well". I just don't care. "Good" works better for my purposes)

The "heat of the moment"
Can leave scars for a lifetime

..."oh, be careful little tongue what you say..."

---------------------------------------------

"Death and life are in the power of the tongue: and they that love it shall eat the fruit thereof" (Prov 18:21)

(Apparently) Her promises carry an expiration date...
...
so does my patience

I don't have trouble finding females.
I have trouble finding females that are worth the trouble of finding...

or keeping.

Just me jammin with my fam around Christmas of '09.
the singer/piano player is my cousin Joey Legend

Shee says that she will leave me
(in the relational sense).

At first I wonder
what it is that she will take,
And worry
that it will be
That
Which is Most Precious to me

Foolish me.
Shee is That
Which is Most Precious
To me.

So, of course, she will take
That Which is Most Precious
…But I have been her Most Precious
So, she will leave
A piece of her
With me
-
Shee
Is not my diety
Yet, still I pray

...

leave me, Me…

“Behind every good man is a good woman”
I do not need a good woman behind me.
As Eve was created from Adam’s side,
So I do not need a good woman behind me,
because that leaves room for a bad woman
by my side.
…
I cannot afford to look back.
Nor will I drag you forward with me.
…
…Will you walk with me?”

Leave me be

If it is quite alright with you,
I will sit outside,
As my soul communes with Nature,
And learn to Be

Leave me Be

Right, Wrong, and "Left"
Mortality

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Her job is her life


Her job is her life…and it takes what it gives her.
She sleeps the sleep of the dead whenever the Job allows her to.
She does so happily,
trusting that I will wake her in the morning with a Snow White kiss.
-
But her dwarves are all neurosis, self-doubt, and a fear of change.
And, sometimes, the Snow White kiss has morning breath.
And, sometimes, it is the Prince that-isn’t-Charming that sleeps...

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