he called me family
for the very first time."
My face felt so hot
my hand grabbed his arm
and I wanted him to know why.
At that moment he was an exact quote;
Had I been a metaphor
soaring from an old wizards lips
and built on the imagination of his listener
a tale on someone that just needed to try
a little harder to get exactly that thing they'd worked for.
I think whether I made it to success or not
being a wizards tale would've been enough.
But I guess today I must fill the story tellers seat
leaving the wizard to be the me I've wish to be.
And in that I mean a fantasy.
some part of me
a limb that grew
for a purpose
and at a time that
I don't remember
Has a mind of
it's very own
and speaks with
to tell me to
be still, to listen,
and to be ready.
And the only constant
that it brings
is fear, and sweat,
and a very real
sense of betrayal.
When had the art of poetry
become so blatantly thrown aside by men
as the female pass time
for expressing our general hysteria?
I don't suppose
religion ever gave
the right of judgement
to any unkind soul.
So if they
truly are unkind
then heed nothing of it.
Today I love with a love that is full
and catered, and bounded by the hands
with which he is willing to receive it.
But I have found that there is a pain
in loving a poet, currently undiscovered
Arguing with a fool
proves there are two
so I wont waste time
in argument with you.
And the branch keeps branching out
while the stone stays stuck in place.
and the rock is taken to Paris,
leaving the stick to take more space.
and that stick lives long enough
to become a stone with little trace.
but the stick still has decadency
where as the rock can only brace.
so here's the moral of it all:
when you live you act in grace.
and no matter the shape or size at all
it's a choice to take up space.
And a metaphor is carried to an uber
wasted on those that bring it home