Quick Lesson

Every poem I write is a story. There is a beginning and an end. It takes you somewhere. I want you to lose yourself in the plot. I want you to have reached an unexpected understanding of self, of life, of emotion, the nature of the beast, by the end. I want you to realize that blue isn’t blue at all. It’s actually red masquerading as blue and the box they live in is the matrix. So none of it actually exists. It’s all relative. Just like poetry. So silky smooth you don’t know that you’ve been sliding til you reach the end and make sense of the middle.


Holla atcha girl.



At the moment I somewhat resent the idea of forgiveness. Really I resent it completely but I didn’t want the people who may read this to judge my bitterness too harshly. But, I’m too stupid to really care about judgment so there’s my truth. Fuck forgiveness.

At least, that’s how I feel right now. And, while I understand that for me that resentment will wane and I will open my mind and heart to the light of forgiveness, right now the concept is dredged in misunderstanding and mistrust.

Yes I will at least talk to you now but I haven’t reconciled the true reasons as to why I am doing so. Am I looking for ammunition or the past. Neither are healthy to move forward and both are detrimental to forgiving you.

I know I will, in time, move from the negative emotions constantly resurfacing in me today. As of yet, though, I have not. My eyes still look for the cracks in your story and my mind replays the 10 different scenarios that could all be the truth, all of which or not the story coming 0ut of your mouth.

God said it was okay to be your friend. So, I’m listening. I’m praying in very short syncopated breaths that he touches the hard shell that has become my heart and loosen the muscle. Unclench the tight ball it is now wrapped into so hate won’t settle and lock out forgiveness. All the while, weakening me for an attack by the enemy. Because that’s what this is really about. Another way to take out a soldier. Emotional warfare. the ties that bind. Who needs anthrax when you could send an envelope full of love through the mail. Hand delivered.

I’m stronger than this. I’m stronger than the force out to take me down. I’m stronger than your lies. I’m stronger than the hate that is trying to suffocate me. I’m stronger than failure and I’m stronger than any plot against me to see me be anything other than me. So I will forgive you. Selfishly because it’s in my self- interest to do so. Realistically because that is who I am. And no one, not even you, will make me be anything otherwise.