Where I was then?
Where was I when I decided to “be” according to where I thought I wasn’t, but should be seen or be or had been.
Who was seeing me and why?
A stranger’s approval superseded my own deny...but why?
Doesn’t matter now, the story’s “how”, driven by eyes not mine, saw me there then, not now....
Don’t remember the why, when or where....you get the picture.
A situation, a moment, a scene,
Where I thought I would “mean”, make an impact or at least when I thought I was making efforts to intervene.
The scene, alas, conveniently never convened to pass because it was not of truth-tried substance but flammable gas.
Whether my “right here, right now” approach would be enough for the price of smell, taste and touch....too stubborn to be coached,
too proud to see myself beyond reproach...
A rhetoric heretic riding coach facing every new horizon I approached.
First I crater.
You’re a target for abuse if you cater.
Later I learn, earn, burn, know better.
Bitter I turn hater.
Sell your self to matter.
Unplug to be better.
Isolate yourself just to make a difference.
Creators that steer clear of best interests,
bent to mechanize.
We consent but don’t recognize.
their intent to capitalize.
People consume more processed salt, fat and sugar.
Drunk youth dance to music made by “industry entrepreneurs” that never played an instrument.
“You make how much??? Here are the 10 neighborhoods, restaurants, cars, clothes and other some-such you can identify by...I mean afford...I mean identify with.
Sacrifice a category to move up in another, the gratification will root in your instinctive brain.
Men can **** it or **** it or brag about someone else who did.
Women can socialize, feel, share, dance or share about someone else who did.
It’s well researched, they know the instinctive needs
Only opinions allowed, the truth carries too much responsibility.
I can always change my mind later, the truth does not change.
Funders will shake any baby or kiss any hand to get you to say yes to “this is why they’re bad” but never change brought in “this is how we can”.
Thunders will quake any wonders if they’re felt without Lightning’s blinding flash to closed-lash eyes.
Sliced, Spliced, Splintered and splendidly split.
Thrice not twice I was hindered to commit to give but not get.
Crises without advice,
a soul’s Tendency to admit quit, at least, so is writ.
scarily tossed across the lost sea’s vast length crossed.