Come in from the black world of doubt and icy trepidation, eat a meal of happiness with me, and find yourself in the shared sorrow, of a world inhumane.
Moving on is like a sparked tinder, feeding the whisper of a coal, with a cautious patient hand, and praying that it’s warmth lasts beyond the dawns coldest hour.
You were hungry, flirting with desperation, wary of trusting generosity, watching the song unfold, waiting for the pitch and timber to reflect a stitch of frustration meeting love.
Having only a misery to share, a smile crystalized into a welling of blurred memory, and drinking the tears of it with eyelashes of letting go.
Your dance steps are clearly swallowed pain, it’s plain to see the passion buried in your rhythm, a bursting at the seams hope chest, the till inside brimming shine.
Transformation in games, the focused darts of a pool cue followed through, as the chalk spirals upward in the lamp light, a resounding crack of well placed intention, meeting an action of satisfaction, and resulting in joy.
Thank you sir, the story will go untold beyond this line of poetic service to honor your courage, trusting that breaking the rule was okay, because we had four eyes to see, and the music was berthed laughter.
Your fingernails were dirty hon, but the trade was clean after I washed mine, because we parted well fed, and the contentment was contagious.
The clouds are bringing wet, the kind that gets in your bones, tears at your flesh with gales of wrinkle building ferocity, and yet….with a breathe and a desire to dream, grow, improve, change, move on, let go, live fun, and as you do….you do survive.
That little boy inside me, the one who loves to play, laugh, dance, and sing, the childlike teen who is struggling to understand a dishonor, a man confused by a lie.
*Doctor Google took me on a ride in a bucket, down an icy road for a few days to discuss the dishonesty. ( *A Nurse Practitioner who prescribes drugs for mental health patients, that think they know what medication they should get, because they Googled it created this idea)
After reading the toxic text message a few more times, I figured on searching for “false apology”. Thank goodness for Brainy Quote. Fifty-six pages in (it took a few days, as the lie was poison in my heart already, so I had to pause the research for health purposes), I found satisfaction.
To all the artists, homicide investigators, poor, the unsatisfied with their accomplishments, kids who wish their car was faster, their boots more expensive, their house on a hill, the minorities, underdogs, and others who clutch onto the Peter or Wendy flying in their hearts still, “waiting on the world to change”, holding their breath in high hope of enduring betrayal: