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When I look at my voice,
It appears fragile, weak, and afraid.

It cowers before the judgment of others I love,
Smother in love,
Before I sever our connection,

And as I watch that voice take on an ugly expression,
Saying things filled with salt and fat and grease,
I remember my values,
And I wonder how I ever got so far from the path I chose when my vision was far clearer.
The life of the body absorbed by a strife,
Unsettled, and stormy,
It swirls and ignites,
A personal drama as real as a knife,
Simple and sensuous rage and delight,

The stage is the soul and the soul is a fright,
The actors are gilded and wielding the plights
of their parts aimed at hearts at the heights of their hearths
And the mice and the men, they all shrink to decide,

So the bickering started when sides were so drawn,
And demands, they were placed for all eyes looking on,
But concerns such as safety prevented the rightful
Decree of my conscience, the Earth of my scourn,

There may not be honor, equivocal speech,
Uttered, I'd dance an advance and retreat,
But the truth in the matter's how hallow the blame,
Became when it came from each manner's deceit,

The real wrong ran as deep as the core of the planet,
As hot as to melt all the glass and the granite,
That built all the homes that our families' founded,
Soaring rhetorical speech to be grounded,

When my truth is spoken, unbroken and free.
Suppose it was known at the first moment,
When you called on me to be your transition,
When you, through me, enabled yourself to punish men both past and present,
Vulnerable in me alone, left to liberate your power,
That grace would sever our connection.

I consented,
I am no victim.

Through you I've seen paradise through strength,
In you, I carried my hidden reserve.
I let you hold all that I know, and can be,

So that I could remain choiceless, and meek, in the average eyes of the world.

I gave to you.  Love poured from me like a decanter small,
and made of magic,

And you simply drank!

You drank and drank to my spirit's inspiration.

It was unconscious greed, a taker's spirit forged from a foreign place,
One where mercy and love, where civility, honor, and thoughtfulness,
Never dared to infringe on the impulse to survive,

But it did inspire me.
Such basic and consistent placement of self first in the face of all that works to will one toward the world's masquerade of sacrifice,

Was as astonishing to me as the freak, the genius, the new constellation,

And I still struggle to understand what your experience of the world is like,

Without the indefatigable tug of duty pulling at your pulsing heart.

I reached my limit.
And this discovery of imposition has warranted me my own selfish wills,

I will not soon mistake them for the fancies of another.

But I will say that there is grace in you,
As you travel, composed of want alone,
Healing those you hurt just enough to clear and clean the path you fashion,

And I'll idealize you because you never humanized yourself to me.
Or wanted my humanity.

Our service to each other like points that hold along the sky.
I affix my eyes on your cold and constant light.
And discover a direction.
My body is a strange place,
For moments the length of ages imagination sets adrift my soul
And when I return to share all that I've learned
I find it hard to animate this flesh
With all my new desires,

Physics binding what was never once subject to timing in the most uncomfortable way,

I prefer my life unfolding in a dream.
You're worried because you think all life is precious
When new life is precious.

You cling to parts of you because you think the fact of their existence,
Means they are deserving of your pity, and support.

I'm here to tell you to die,
That it's okay to die.

You will only become more you when you allow the death of previous permutations of your soul,

Born of time, and place, and level of maturity,
Born to be exactly what you needed,

I say give birth again and again,
To create newer, wiser ways of being,

And thank the spirit of creation for your previous self,
And eulogize its gifts and faults with the love it deserves.
Do you still see the hand of God?
Or has that appendage blended,
Into the power of spiritual awareness,
To which I see my fellows so attuned.

I know that God is not a man,
Not a person,
And not a thing,

But I miss my story.
The one about sacrifice, love, and fate,
A great father at the helm,
Directing us through waves that petrify reflexes,

God gentrifies the isolated,
God intimidates iniquity,

And spirituality is for the soul.
But I wish, still, for a better story in this age so new.
What a wild ride for a mild hide,
Files high filled with admired traits and itemized complaints
     for every girl and guy supplied with power over places and people like

Running from each moment in a state of terror, fearing error revealing
     every spurious display of feeling shown,

Knowing survival depends on the Holy Bible of servility:

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