She had a soul so old
she made god look young

It was as if her old shirt has tightened its grip unto her — slowly spreading crumbs of itch and scars from her last night's episode.

And sometimes, she would often wear her old clothes to feel its tightness and grip her unbalanced body, so she would look at herself and roll her eyes in disgust. And often, she would toss around her big shirts and compare the two, while her wounds slowly turning into scars, she would see to it and add another collection,
and she would call it a day. Eat a lot more than yesterday and hide in her memories, until someone finds her, but she's never found.

Sometimes, she will serenade someone but no one can hear her. Give some pieces of her and turn it into songs, but no one listens.

And she would call it a day, spend a lot more than yesterday, and hide in the present realm of her new found friend, her favorite scent from her old shirt.

I manage to walk a few miles every 2 or 3 days
in a failing effort to loosen the muscles
and ease the soreness of bad knees and a dissolving spine
we no longer discuss when it will happen
but rather when did it happen
exactly what day did the line go straight and then turn downward
ever so slightly
there is some comfort in having friends with the same affliction

I am pulled back to the Ocean
drawn like an addict to the smell
every group of gulls
riding the shoreline
every hour slowed

I feel energy there
as the Sun lowers
as the children and fisherman return home
as the whispers of those gone before me
are carried by the ocean breeze

Even before 1619 chains and tormentors guided our fate’s
Decisions made by masters of disasters, calamity incarnate
Strict with the lash, fast with cash, made to be last
Ground into mash and left in the past
Hundreds of years drowning in the struggle
Voices ignored and submerged into a gurgle
Each strike an etching of fear to remind of us we belong in the rear
We belong under their heel, we belong in a field
Our place standing as equal, not real
'1865 and the wool is pulled further over our eye’s
The lies fly fast when equality is subject
You matter, you’re worthy, you’re heard and valued
Just enough to serve and just enough to observe
Now they tell me we’ve been unshackled from the hassle
Now our voices are as powerful as the masters
Now actions matter
With my newfound freedom, I looked behind the curtain
Found a sinister grin hiding a truth that leads us right back to where we began
Where my freedom of choice is blocked by the path to move forward
Where my value is determined buy profits that profit from me as a product
Forever a slave to shackles of titles that never really matter
Shackles of false power and influence
Shackles of masters too blind to see the new face staring at them from inside the veil
Forever beaten blue and yellow.