This is an intense understanding of self.
Ready for the downloads of truth that tomorrow beholds..
This is an intense. Understanding. Just of today.
Feeling almost uncomfortable, dressed in skin cells. Grateful and humbled, however, to be adorned in the same. This is an intense paradox.
I swear, if he would have just given a little.. He would have earned the world. But if he couldn’t see it from jump, it means that he was either a liar or a lazy believer of himself. Either way, he didn’t suit me. I used to be able to bet a hand that held a “straight – shot”, but he just threw off my count.
My bank accounts, my life account. Shit man. She’s almost 6 and I still have debts to my dignity that my mind can’t pardon. He’s almost 10 and bankruptcy for my destiny was my only option.
All I can muster is to write to the majestry and plead a bargain. If I write to touch lives, will you return my passion? Will you forgive my tens of blasphemously, unorganized notebooks and allot one published collection of prose? One.. Chapbook gone viral.. One.. Open mic performance to connect with just one.listener.one time..? Lord of letters, will you sweep under the carpet my decade-full of broken hearted, pity party love poems when I could have been writing for you instead?
Will you grace me again with your purpose of service, with your sense of hope that salvation and healing can be transmitted through art? That it can be spoken through poetry … That fear can be unpuzzleed, and dismantled by speaking demons apart.
Will you re-tool me with an adept talent of organization to project my intentions in an untainted manner? Will you help me to forget my forgetfulness as I surge into my 9-5, as if it were all that, for the day, mattered?