Through the times that I have fallen he's picked me up. When I doubted myself he believed in me. Through all adversity he has been my comfort so when the world says no I will say yes. No matter what may come no matter who may stand against me I will stand with Jesus for he has stood with me

The sunlight begins to fade as evening shadows come once again. The flowers begin to draw up their petals as the wind rustles the leaves in the trees. From inside the hollowed out space in an old knotted tree, a pixie spreads her wings. With a great yawn she steps out into the air, falling gently to the cool earth, her feet settle onto the grass. She surveys the flowers and the mushrooms around her. She then begins to sing a song that sounds like a brook gently washing over stones. One by one the stars begin to peek out through the curtain of a Purple sky. As the moon breaks the horizon, and the birds settle into their nest, the Dark Pixie spreads her wings and catches an evening breeze She sails high above the tree tops to greet the coming night like an old friend.

Drip, Drip, Drip the Crimson flows from my arm. A small nick a little cut and the blood goes into the sink. Sliding into the cool water, the Red is diluted in the clear cold water. I look in the mirror and my eyes are blood shot. I haven't slept in days, so a little cut with a Silver razor seems to help with the pain in my head. I look at the shiny key and wonder do I dare go a little farther this time, or should I take the medication and see if I can sleep a little while, or perhaps I should make the final cut and sleep forever this time?

My clothes may not be in the latest style, but I am dressed just fine for the occasion. The people who I talk to may not seem like they have much to talk about, but everyone needs someone to hear them. What little I do may not seem important, but an Acorn can grow a might Oak tree. Though I may be invisible to some people in the world, I really don't mind if they ignore me. I am not working for an award, but for the betterment of my fellow human. My resources are limited but I am determined. A single bowl of soup or a kind word can go a long way. Though the world around me may not understand , I will keep on my path until the end. No matter what may come or who may ignore the forgotten, for I will take care of what others do not see.

The sun rises and the shadows fade. I wind down slowly and find my grave. Through an endless pattern of light and dark, I carry my curse. Each day I find the crypt that I call a bed. I slumber and pray that I will not see death. Then as the sun travels it's arch, the shadows begin to fall again. I slowly rise from the place where I will likely be buried, no one comes to call anymore so there is no one to find me. I simply slip out of my crypt a pail lifeless form, like a shadow or a ghost of my former self. I walk into the pail street lights and find my way to some place. I live in the night because the daylight hurts me so. Onward I go in this hellish existence, until the sun comes up and I must flee from  the daylight once again.

A prince came in peace and they reviled him. A king came in humility and they rejected him. A wise man spoke and they mocked him. The son of God offered redemption and they crucified him. If they will do this to him, then what will the world do to me?

Dark skies with a Purple hue roll over the landscape. Trees come to life as old buildings fade. Silver lights shine around new things that are growing, the soul of mans time is dying. The world quakes as history unravels. Myth is becoming fact and reality that was is now fantasy. Elves emerge from hidden realms covered by mist. Dwarfs shake off the dust of the deep earth and crack open clefts in the mountains. The moon is joined by a lesser soul mate as one is Silver and the other Green. They mix to cast an eerie light on the earth below. What was is not and what was forgotten is now new. So is a world reborn from chaos to a new order of things.

The emotions swirl inside of me, like dark jewels they roll around and glisten with a black light. The turmoil of my soul is a constant reminder of my indecision. Round and round  the pit of my stomach turns, I try to get it out, but I cannot speak or even write down what I am feeling. I feel like I cannot breath as I try to express myself. All I have is a sea of letters trapped in the treasuries of my creative nature. I am going under and I am not sure I will come back. My pen has failed me and I cannot speak coherently. I am drowning in words and do not know how much longer I can stay afloat.

Oh Lillies Frost White that sway gently in the Wind. They Mark a place of rest that beckons others to join them. Beneath an endless sky in a land where there is eternal day and sorrow is forgotten as all tears have gone away. The Parting was with great sorrow, but it is only for a little while. For by a Crystal River, I will soon stand and again see you smile. So hold fast and run your race, for the morning will come soon and in the peace that is called heaven will be joined again my friend

I have a neighbor that needs help. I write a great many poems but many are about how we can help each other. If anyone would like to give just 5 dollars you can find the fund raiser at facebook under the name of James Vined. I know the site got a typeo and won't fix it readily. Thanks

I am a sprocket a cog in the wheel. I squeak occasionally and must be oiled and tightened up. If the machine is to run I must do my part. If one cog fails then the machine will come to a halt. So onward I turn, grinding the other gears. When we mesh we do extraordinary work, but when we miss a turn nothing will go right.

I speak my mind but no one listens. I scream but no one pays attention. So I stop talking and start doing. I find one problem then I solve it. Then I move on to the next. One person at at a time, one problem at a time. I make it my own affair to help others instead of myself. Little by little, my life begins to change. I see the world begin to close in around me. When I was screaming no one would listen, but now that I am quiet and doing something about it, my words of action seem to speak louder than I ever could.

I stomp my bare feet upon the  shards of a mirror that was broken a few moments ago. I run the burning cold pieces through my skin as they mix with the warm blood oozing from my wounds. I dance as pain resonates through each nerve. I seek a truth that I cannot find in sanity. I looked at that dam mirror a thousand times and not once did I like what I saw. So I shattered it with my fist and released my power. I now stand in a Crimson and Silver pool as light shimmers beneath my feet like flecks of Diamonds. I realize that I am hurting but my soul does not care. While my body screams for reason, my spirit is elated to feel freedom, even if pain is the only way that it can obtain it.

Silver and White are found in the froth of the waves. I melt into the water and let myself be washed away. I disappear and break against a rock on some distant shore. The sand absorbs me and pulls me down into it's dark depths. I look at mysteries through the prism of each smoky grain and slowly the ocean calls me back. Swish goes the froth as it finds  me, back into the cold depths I plunge. I feel a thousand living things run through me. As I become the water and the water becomes me.

Squiggly lines run through my mind. Vertigo cause me to fall into the confusion. I lose my balance as I grapple with the words floating all about me. I try to put the puzzle together but it will not fit. The dimensions confuse me and turn me upside down and sideways. I open my eyes and push the paper down. I pick up the quill and strike the page with ink. The confusion and squiggly lines find order and chaos becomes a story written in poetry.

The world is filled with violence and no one seems to care. People are crying out for salvation but none seems to be there. If each one of who believes would do more to be like our lord, then the world would see a light of hope in every deed  and word. The darkness would be beaten and hope would replace despair. People would have faith again because there was someone there. With each person we could help a life would be changed, then solving one problem at a time, the world would never be the same.

His hands were rugged and pierced on a tree. His feet were worn and nailed that he should bleed. He walked in worn out sandals and slept on the ground. His head was cut with a thorny crown. He wept tears as blood that the cup should pass, but it was not the fathers will. He was faithful until the end. Even death could not hold the one who would not bend. He bares the scars of his sacrifice for all of creation to see. Christ our lord wears them proudly to show that he died for you and me.

Long sunny days fade like a quiet dream. Cool air sneaks in like time bringing a first wrinkle. Leaves begin to change color on the trees. Birds begin to disappear for warmer climates. You can see Geese in arrow shapes filling the sky as if pointing out the obvious. Pumpkins begin to turn a bright Orange as Corn fields turn Golden. The sun sets lower each day as children laugh and play. Scare Crows begin to emerge as porch lights come on a little earlier and shine their guiding lights to let you know where home is. Festivals come around and the smell of the county fair returns. The Cotton Candy makes for sticky smiles. Carmel Apples get caught in your teeth and young lovers bundle up under warm quilts hand made by favorite aunts or grand mothers. Supper taste sweeter as family gathers around the table. All of the things that make fall wonderful come back when Autumn comes again.

Who is this man that was crucified. Who is the man who was pierced in his side. Who is the one who walked by the sea. Who is the one they called the Nazarene? Who is the one that was crucified between two thieves? Who is the man that they say rose from the grave. Who is this man who sought to save? Who could this man be? Perhaps this man is you and me?

Perhaps a day will come when all the questions will be answered. Then there will no longer be a why or how, but until then let us use our imagination and think about the positive. What if each child could be taught the golden rule. What if every child could graduate school. What if we each gave more than we received. What if we all pitched in to help cure a disease. What if we all stood together as one. What if we stopped hating and began to love. Imagine the power that we could have. If we only made what if, a reality.

Under the shade of Spanish moss and deep inside the bayou, something crawled out and shook off the dirt and grime. It sat upon a rock and looked at the sun. It was long green and scaly, but no one knew quite what it was. It just yawned and lay flat. For hours it sat idly then a local politician passed by, the thing jumped quickly and gobbled him up. With a full belly it slithered back into the murky bayou, never to be seen again.

We are all born naked and cold and hungry. We all die alone inside ourselves. In between we may move up or down, but our ending and beginning our the same. All that we can do is strive to make the world a better or worse place in a hope that when we leave that we have touched lives and left a legacy that will help others do better than we have done ourselves, so at the end when we are all again equal, that we will not leave with regret for what might have been.

The cuts riddle the body, the blood oozes from the wounds. A calm silence fills the air. No gasp for air, just a gentle sleep. Rest has finally found a weary soul, though it might seem like a gruesome end. Few will ever know the torment that a conscience wrestled with day and night. The unimaginable demons that clawed at the psyche of the person now at rest. Like a thousand bee's buzzing in the head, so were the endless voices of discontent. Pills only dulled the buzzing to a humming, that still caused turmoil and violent emotional storms. Now all is quiet as people in White coats with squeaky shoes come into the room. They move the now restful soul to another bed and wheel the mortal remains away. While somewhere in a quiet corner of eternity, the person that was is being reborn. A new creature with only one voice telling them what to do, and not many demons trying to steal a piece of their soul.

Weary child come unto me and I will let you rest. Wayward soul that has lost it's way follow me on the path that is straight. You that are thirsty, come and drink from my well. I will fill you will living water that will never run dry. Those who feel for gotten, know that I remember you. Even the Sparrow does not fall from it's nest that I do not see. Come set down your troubles and eat from my table. Let me help you bear your load, come lay your burdens down.

I walk by a lake and look at the clouds. I see the leaves losing their hues of Green. I remember what it was like when you walked beside me. Now I am not sure how I feel. I hold an empty space inside that I am trying to fill. I look to recapture the old magic that we shared. I stop and stand by an old stump as I watch the lake lap at the shore line. I close my eyes as the breeze touches my cheek and I imagine that it is your hand, as I fall back into old memories and try to fill a void that was left in me when you went away.

The buildings are crumbling yet people live in them. The sidewalks are covered with filth but people still walk on them. The roads are filled with potholes but people still drive on them. There is a gloom that hangs thick in the air, but children are still at play. A neighborhood that once was as soon will not be, is more than the buildings, the sidewalks or the streets. The people are the fabric of the community and in some of them there is still hope. Though poverty and violence may seem to be a way of life, light still shines in the dark corners. Laughter and kindness is shared between neighbors and comes from children. So despite the grim picture that others may paint, I saw many things but most of all I saw hope in the streets.

I hobble around when once I could run. I am disregarded but I still salute the flag. I gave some and some gave all, yet I went forward and would do so again if called. I am weary of battle, but few will take up the cause. Sacrifice and love of country to me, even over the screams of burn it all down. I kneel before God not in protest. I stand as best I can when my anthem is played. I pledge my allegiance to the flag and observe a quiet moment for those who cannot. I watch as people spit on my way of life and a tear fills my eye. I want to march on, but it is hard as I sometimes hurt. I am a broken soldier, fix me and I will sacrifice in your place while you sleep comfortably as I face the cold and dangerous night.

Hands reach out for a piece of the pie until the pie is gone. Many want but few contribute. Hard work has become a sin and demanding more is the in thing. Some are getting older and can no longer contribute to the ***. People who give nothing and those who have achieved nothing want their fair share even if it takes food out of another person mouth. Slowly the blood is drained from the turnip and not much is left but a husk. The clamoring does not cease as still more pile onto the gravy train. Then the train runs off of the track and a big heap of defeat is left. Still they cry more, give me my share without so much as a let me help out.  This cycle goes until one day the true outcome is revealed, those who pushed others to cry for what was not theirs have the needy bound in chains of ******* and now it is to late and the imagined want is real as gimme gimme gimme turns into the sound of the whip and oppression.

We are all different, no two are exactly the same. If only in subtle difference in some cases, we are not replicas of each other. Our skin may be a different hue from our brother or sister, but underneath we all bleed red. We may not agree on everything but we have common hopes and dreams. Humanity may be diverse, but we live on the same world. So how can we divide ourselves so readily? Some have enough some have very little. Some have more than they need. Forcing one to give to another does not make things equal, only when we learn compassion will we willingly share. Humanity is not just the color of skin, it is a common bond between us all. Until we learn to live under one blue sky and one yellow sun in harmony, we will not have peace no matter what we look like.

There is no Gold but they are still mining it in Alaska. There is no oil, yet they are still pumping it from the ground. We need more taxes to feed the homeless, yet the poor are all around us. Global warming is killing the planet so we will invest in alternative energy, then we get our wind turbines and solar panels from China. Every time we turn around, we are told about the problems that money can solve. If everyone would just pay their fair share how wonderful it could be. We give and give until we have no blood left in our veins, even a Turnip can go dry. No matter how much seem to spend, nothing seems to change. So where did all of the money go ?

When the cold water pours out of the sky and drenches us, let me warm you. When life showers you with difficulty let me hold you. When the lightening flashes and the thunder roars let me comfort you. In a winter squall or a spring shower let me adore you body. Hold me close in the silver drops and let me be entwined with you. Let nothing stand between us as we join our souls in the cleansing down pours. Just let me love you in the rain.

Soulful music slowly drifts out of the speakers. The lights are dim as she drifts across the floor. Her blood red lipstick adds to the illusion. She wraps her shawl around her shoulders and pretends that is a man holding her that is not around. Her body hungers for companionship, but she wants to be faithful. The music catches hold of her as she spins around slowly and looks at the mirror. She lets her honey blonde hair flow over her shoulder. The deep rhythmic voice of the singer says what she is feeling, she has been alone too long. Her passion has been lit like the fuse of a cannon and she is ready to explode. She pulls on her best dress and slips into her heels. She knows that this is wrong but what is a girl to do. She says her passion is to strong to contain any longer as she heads out the door, she has been to long dancing alone to the blues.

I sit in my rocking chair and look out the window, I see the Seasons changing around me. My world has gotten smaller, now that age has taken hold. Once I could go where I would, now I am restricted. If it's too hot or if it's too cold, my joints seem to bother me and my energy quickly flows away. My grandchildren used to visit often, but now they seldom come. When they were younger I could see the world through their eyes as I would sit and listen to the stories for hours, but those happenings were in days gone by. So now I wait on people to come, strangers that I do not know. They talk to me kindly, but they are only paid to be here. Those whom I cherished, have lives of their own to live. I hold no animosity toward them, for I know that this is just how it is. I look out the window frequently, wondering when I will see death coming to call. So far he hasn't paid me a visit, but perhaps it won't be that long. As the world around me closes in, it becomes harder for me to get around. I'm left only to look at the things around my room and to listen for Quiet Sounds. It won't be long now I think, when that which I once feared will come and set me free. It is my belief and Hope that when the veil is pulled back, that there will be a new door for me to walk through. For the world is getting even tighter around me and it can't push me much further in. I long to see a quiet end, and for a brand new journey to begin.

Oh soulless moon how cruel is your light, casting shadows in the night. In the cruelest twist of fate I must stand under your watchful gaze, as I am haunted by my loves forgotten shade. It would be better that there were no lesser light, so cold and unforgiving are you. The utter darkness would be better, then I would be wrapped in forgetfulness. How cruel fate is, she wreaks vengeance upon me. The sun burns me and you oh lesser orb taunt me. In the sun at least I can see clearly, but in your white light, shadows chase me, each one a demon lurking for my soul. Oh how I would that death had taken me instead, it would be better for me to have died of grief than my beloved. Now she is at peace and I must live each night mocked by you oh silver watcher, reminding of my lost love.

Faith is my shield and his word is my sword. I have been through many battles but I will stand for the Lord. In the shadow of the cross I will gladly lay my life down. So that my God may receive the glory and I can win the Victor's Crown. No one said my journey would be easy but I cannot leave a single soul behind. The Son of God gave me the victory, he paid a terrible cost. So one until I am called to his kingdom, I will stand up for the cross.

You may not know my name. We may never formally meet. I may not preach to a million people on T.V. . That does not mean that I am not important. That does not mean that I do not have a part. Even the smallest seed can do great things. I may be a simple worker, marching on the pilgrim way. I may only offer smiles and prayers to those who I see that are in need. That does not diminish my importance, for in every life there is a plan. I may simply be set to watch and blow a trumpet only once, but in that single moment as a watchman I may give the call. Sometime even the smallest things or single moments can change it all. So when you think who am I to God, you must understand. You are his beloved creation and you have a part in his plan.

There is a 500lb brick sitting on my brain. I try to write but I can barley strain a phrase. I look at the screen and see a square black hole where the words should be. The block is damming up my ideas and it is killing me. I try to sleep only to have the words leak out in drips and drabs. Then when I get up at 2am to try to write the block is sitting on my keyboard. The letters look like Sand Script and I cannot make them out. Why won't the phrases come out? I take out my pen and try to chisel the block away. My pen is made of a feathered quill and the block is of Granite stone, I can only scratch squiggly lines on the monolithic stone. I have a writers block, it is a terrible pain. I sit here for hours staring at a blank screen again. I get up to go to the bathroom and the block is in my way, I trip over it and hit my head. Suddenly the words begin to seep through the knot I got from banging into the floor. At least the block is cracked now, if I trip over it again, perhaps it will crack a little more?

I am no a perfect 10, unless you subtract 10 belt sizes. I have a large build but I can still see my shoes before I put them on. I do watch what I eat, I just like too much of it. I work out, but I get hungry afterwards. I do not fear a mirror because depending on the kind of mirror it is, it may not tell me the truth. I am ok with who I am, there is just more of me than there may be of some other people. Despite what others think, being fat is not that bad.

Ice hangs from the trees as worn paths are hidden behind a white sheet of snow. Everything glistens in the faint light that breaks through sliver and white clouds. An Owl can be heard calling in a distant grove of trees as it hides in the dark wooded cavern. The streams are frozen but you can hear them creak and groan. The North wind weakens and begins to subside blowing snow drifts in to blinding curtains of white. Ever so slowly the earth turns around and begins to shift. The hand of the cold miser that counts every snowflake begins to loosen its grip. A South wind comes in and the clouds begin to part. The towers of frozen water falls with Ice that hangs down like the Columns  of a Cathedral begin to drip. Trickles come together and form small streaks of water that cut grooves in the ice. Day by day the cold recedes, until foot prints that were frozen into the ground begin to turn into mush. The forest begins to lose it's sheen of silver and brown limbs spring up as the weighty snow falls off. They reach ever higher for the sun as they embrace it's warmth. As the last vestiges of white evaporate, small buds appear as sap rises. Winter falls away and spring finds it's place again.

The serpent turns around her body from the top of her foot to the small of her back. then over her shoulder as it's head rest on her breast. A Cobra goes down one arm and another wraps around her other to her wrist, she throws her dark hair back as she twirls and stares at you with Yellow Green eyes. Her lips are blood Red and her skin is slightly tan. She bends forwards and backwards letting the music guide her body. As she gyrates, the serpents that adorn her slither back and forth, their red eyes drawing you in. You know that snakes are dangerous, but you almost want them to bite you as she jumps and lands kneeling in front of you. One strike and your filled with the poison of her lust. She is ******, seductive and dangerous. You get lost in her eyes, hypnotized as the wraps her arms around you and constricts. You feel the breath going out of you and desire overtakes you. The night is a blur and you awake and she is gone. You were struck in the heart and now you ache all over. She slither away looking for more prey. You try to move but you can still feel the pain of being stricken. She dances with snakes and entices you to come play her dangerous game if you dare.!

In a book that keeps the record of all the deeds i have done, there is a mark beside my name placed there by Gods only son. Where there once the word condemned, now there in only crimson where once there was sin. For you see Christ paid the price, of this there is no doubt. On the day that he was crucified, in the book my sins were crossed out.

Dawn comes and I feel you stir beside me. I feel the warmth of your body as I slowly wake from a lovers dream. I the first golden rays sunlight, I see your form. The faint shadows of night caress you as the   light outlines your body. I lay quietly beside you and treasure a stolen moment of contentment. I watch the light as it blends with shadow to accentuate every curve of your body. I hear your every breath and sigh as you slowly come to life. I revel in your touch as you lay close to me. I pray for this perfect moment to never end, as I capture a glimpse of heaven in the morning light.

Brooding over sorrow and lost love, a poet sits in a chair in a half lit room. A typewriter on a dusty desk, the writers block makes the writer wile away the hours. Going to wash up, a razor glistens in it's holder. What is the point, why not cut my wrist. All the while contemplating what it actually means. A former lover calls to let the poet know that a child exist from their consummation, the brooding soul says what do you want from me. If the poet were to try to raise the child, then it too would sit quietly and brood. Until one day perhaps it became a philosopher. Who would them berate poets, who sit around staring at blank pages while eyeing a razor blade. So it is perhaps better that a poet should not have offspring or shave that often, to prevent ending what could be an amazing life on both counts, if not for the depression and idle brooding that poets seem to enjoy so much and would likely pass on if they did not die at their own hand.

To know myself is really hard. To determine what my point of view is difficult with others getting in my way. There are no bad hair days, just bad hair. Who said wash rinse and repeat anyway? Why must I look like everybody else, why can't I just look like myself. Why do I see a gym commercial right after the Burger king add for a whopper. I look with in and all I find is a mirror. I look without and all I see are fun house mirrors. So what if I do not want to go to college, can't I make a living fixing cars? It is all very complicated and I am not sure I will ever figure myself out. I just know that I cannot stop or I will not get started again. Will someone please help me unravel the mystery that is me?

Feeling euphoria then falling like a rain drop, going back and forth unable to stop. Wanting to feel warmth like basking in the summer sun. Conflicted inside, feeling as if you are turned inside out. Love is a drug that I cannot do without. You are my addiction, I suffer withdrawal when you leave me.    There is no substitute for the way I become intoxicated when I am with you.

I see so many who take up the stage and sparkle like so many stars. Yet he did not want to be above others, he would be happy washing their feet. I see those who give gold and silver as they pass on. He had little but gave all of himself to those who had no hope. Each and every day we have the chance to walk in his footsteps. We have the chance to do little things with no hope of reward. Such small acts of kindness were part of who Jesus was, can we be like him?

You are the better half of me. You complete the puzzle that is my life. Spring and Summer are what make you full of warmth and laughter. Fall and Winter are what fill me with amazement and wonder and together we are complete. One cannot exist without the other, we are joined by a bond that transcends mortality. When I am departed from you even for a little while, I know that I am not whole. We are interwoven into each other at a spiritual level. I am convinced that we are two halves of one unique thing, we are one soul.

I do not like to explain my clothing, I like it to be extraordinary. Shocking and bold suits me just fine. I must confess that I like to be noticed. My comfort zone is what ever I feel that day. I try not to stay in a little box, I want to be an expression of who I think I am, not who you think I should be. I will not be defined by social norms, I will live my life open and free. So you may think I am radical, well aren't we all at times. Just do no harm to another and you will be just fine. Wanting to be different, should not be a crime, at least I think it isn't. If it is then I should get that law changed, it just isn't right you see. So I will color with my own Crayons, I have 64 in my box. The colors are so diverse, there can be no accusations of non-inclusion. So I will go out and enjoy the sun or wear vibrant colors as I dance in the rain. I will fill my life with rainbows and unicorns no matter how ridiculous it seems to others. Embracing what the day brings and killing negative thoughts with a warm smile, I will be the ray of sunshine in a room full of dark clouds, I will always live outside of the lines others have painted for me.

Many battles must be fought and many must fall. Ideas are pushed and can mature into violence. At the end of the terrible rampage, there is always a victor, though the cost of the victory might be too high to count.Time takes away the memory of the carnage, and those who failed before will always bring forth their failed ideas in a new philosophy. Human mortality is but a flicker of light in the vast span of infinite time. What we call written history is but a shadow of past things. People die off and memories fade as the veil of time glosses over the past troubles with a mist of forgetfulness. Only truth survives the white washing of facts. Despite the best efforts of those who failed before, their actions will again bear out the fruit of their lies and the truth will once again prevail,but at what cost that we will forget in a generation or two?

On your way to wherever, I was sitting slumped on the sidewalk with a sign saying please help me. As you drove down the street I was playing in front of a run-down house with tattered clothes and no shoes but a joyful heart none the less. As you watched the evening news, I was shaking and sick wrapped in a cheap silver blanket while you ate dinner. As you got dressed up to go out to eat and have fun with your friends, I was crossing the street with a cane trying to get back home we just a few cans of food. While you were laying in a hammock in your front yard wondering about the things that people consider, I was crying next door as my father beat me with a belt because he had no one else to take his frustrations out on. I am everywhere and I am every person. I am every opportunity that you have to make a difference, did you see me?