It’s Not Done Until I Say It’s Done

Who do I see when I look at me; sometimes frightened, sometimes angry, most times free? Who holds the strings to the time line, the shadowed path behind, the one I glance, hoping for a chance to see what is missing? This is a journey I opted to take slowly, unraveling, revealing the truth of me. The wind sweeps the shame as I fling it away. I’m standing solid today, and I’m here to stay.

There are words left to be spoken, and predators due a righteous atonement. In the language of their own book, do unto others as they do to you. If ever a work of fiction produced a euphemism bold, it is those words which taught me when to go cold. Where they are covered with a false kindness, I rather take a leaning to the polarity of things.

So, should you see your verses as profound, you won’t mind me in your town, prowling around undercover, I assume, watching you. I just might be your mother, your sister or daughter or brother. One will never know until the final show.

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