Why is there a need
to be riled up
a necessity for a kind of
emotional violence
for the pen to intercede
and speak its piece?
I speak better when I need
release?
Oh, really.
How many opportunities have
skated, passed when I needed
to support my case or
back up my a**,
but have found words lacking.
My sense of myself sent somewhere packing.
Away and off to God knows where.
Wearing only tall hard boots and tattered
long underwear. Only partially dressed
for life's daily affairs.
Should I have been at my best?
Defending myself was an art that
I was never taught and have
only in more recent years better
understood that I ought
to have known.
One doesn't go in
brawling and carrying heavy wood.
One should pack a keen awareness
of the world and of ones relationship
to it.
Making all-seeing owl eyes and
standing undiginified, un-defied
with a peacock's confidence, anyone can muster
through it
and be all the be better if they do
it.
Uh-huh. Uh-huh.
Being one's own Master.
Avoiding, diverting disaster.
Using one's wiser words and wisdom
in the present.
Instead of kicking oneself
in the ars* about the past
this queen never wears clothes, you
silly, silly peasant.
And her ars*,
being big
has always been a target.
So go-eth the newest
primer lesson.
As to the emotional violence,
the smoking gun
is my verbal Smith & Wesson.
/// Copyright February 6. 2013 All Rights Reserved By This Author ///