Making a living Wage from the living Word
Inevitably shades, obscures, taints and corrupts
Betrays the apparently living Faith
And exalting the Man than the Word

Balaam refused silver and gold in public
But embraced death's wages in secret
Certainly the labourer deserves his dues
But from his Master and not from fellow labourers

If the lives you saved leave you hungry
But for your whip, perhaps they're yet slaves

I'm not sure exactly where I stand
When people ask me if I'm a boy or a man.
But does it really matter?
You're going to see what you want to see.
You're going to say what you want to say.
So while you decide, I'll be standing on the side
Just being me.

I am going through with it
the doctors promised me that I would have the full female experience, including discharge
discharge!

this is the way to keep my sanity and actually get free money and extra rights
extra!

I’m grateful.
But I don’t owe you sht

You have options, but wasting my time isn’t one.
Honey, I don’t owe you sht

Boundaries, boundaries, boundaries is what I praise.
I don’t owe you sht

You’re entitled to your opinions & feelings.
However love, come back to reality cause
I don’t owe you sht

I make efforts, easily
and yet again I say, I just don’t owe you sht

You want explanations for everything but remember,
I don’t owe you sht

You can’t even be accountable
yet you want a relationship - relationship?…
No baby,  I don’t owe you sh*t

I know I have a lot of women hating on me, but it's ok...I don't hate you, and in fact if you're decent looking and not lazy, I probably fantasize about doing stuff to you. Good stuff. I don't think of women as lesser, in half of the ways, I guess I'd say. Some things you don't even want to be part of, believe me. The cruelty that is woman and the cruelty that is man are different.

I don't recognize the man in the mirror
because he is not the man I see
he is the perception of me
not my reality

When I look in the mirror
all that I see is that unfamiliar stranger
with his crooked smile and fixated eyes
looking back at me

He follows my movements,
my quirks and the works,
yet, all I see is a depiction
of a man destined for work.

The bags under his eyes
carry the weight of the world
His brow is stained with sweat,
his lip is curled

This man in the mirror,
he is not me.
He was, and always will be
a depiction
of what the world expects from me.

Every now and then
dip in the water
and every mo
breath to live.

Man comes and goes
it’s a bottomless sea
and the air is still deep

My love is endless to loving plenty, for itself it does not show,
granted to love a penny. Possessions of man's ***** eyes,
Of their murderous hate— many schemes flesh has to conspire,

A change to thought, (I darest spare, lodged by Christ's
gentle love. I hope to know in the ends of prayer.)

Kind heartened I may prove, with gracious kind words,
As with wickedness stuck in mouths; as it's rotting tooth.
All that are wicked; too hide behind sweetest tongues, and
fairest smiles.

Vile, vile, vile. Oh how the world is so vile,
to us all living in denial. Greed has made them all blind.