She caught me unaware by happenstance and in my need to speak. To speak truth and hear my own voice and not fear it telling revealing my own fears.
I wrote in poetic form to be encouraging to get the notice of the other people to be able to speak and not be afraid again fear was a consent bitch on my back. Nagging me about my self doubts and loneliness in my own mind.
I wrote stories in short form to capture my dreams. To explore my own fantasy world wild ideas. To dream while I was awake and I started to worry less about truth though I wanted to speak my own truth.
I still lived in my fears. So I spoke little or not all of my truth feelings or opinions. I was a classical beta bitch.
I don’t give fuck and fear would rather keep away from me now. I cut deep with my words because now experience and survival have taught me well about how much I can take. I don’t give a fuck.
Truth. Real talk. No bullshit speech is what I live by. I form and I shape my brand of poetic influence by the catalog of memories, experiences and a low tolerance for grade A bullshit speech in general.
I am what I am. The forge of life formed the blade of my mind and sense of humor but really I lost interest in being afraid so now….
I cew on Iron and I spit out bullets and strangely enough I can honestly say….
Hot damn! What a time to be alive.
The wind may blow to the east or to the west but I’m fine by it. I’ll set my sail in any direction it blows and enjoy the ride. Death is the final landing but along the way is sure to be a storm of conflict and adventure.
I smile at the thought of it.