I don’t know that it’s been an honorable journey for me per say? Because what is honor’s relevancy toward? And who’s opinion, or critical judgement matters to distinguish my existence as any more honorable than anyone else’s. I just stuck by my code. That code was both entrusted to me and by me from something, or someone greater on this planar frame of existence. That I could and will choose to be better than who I was the day before. Here is my service to maintain and sustain my “honor,” Cheers and blessings to you and yours.

I’ve been “done” before. I have officially called it quits and got no tits no action confirmed distraction on resettling out my wits. The standard realm of no benefits. No rooms, no shakes, no settlement dwellers. The standardized, puddled solution continuing to ooze-onward convinced that there’s something more worthwhile to experience and explore. That’s what calling it quits is—and even I have to be sure. Whatever it is that keeps pressing me into this shoebox that doesn’t fit another’s expectation; whatever it is that is holding down this bar to keep me compressed and anonymous and low-down, I couldn’t tell you, I’ve never made it that far. Sure, I’ve got stories and solutions and have met, as well as befriended many a diverse array of extremely talented and worthwhile people—and perhaps, safe to say as individuals who would not ever know exactly their own equal because that could mean God for them. And shall it ever be the same for me?

All of these twists and turns and immeasurable contortions; all of these views and perspectives and body-stemmed proportions. I really like the one with the space between her legs—where fascination meets consternation and the elevation kegs. There isn’t seemingly enough of any sense to it at all. But sometimes? While I’m walkin’ on the rhythm of scaffolding on sidewalks and skyscrapers? And I compile it all together in a swath-load of spit outside that I could gather on myself as only contrasted by the dirt-yard supporting it. Just don’t let your hair get messed-up all in my swimming pool. If you want to see better just flip your hat around backward like this, and then it doesn’t seem so dark all the time. Plus? people want to look at your eyes so that they can feel appreciated and respected just a bit better than you and more-less when you look up at them with your dirty-deeds face? they can tell they know you’re risky behind them glares. They know you’re ashamed of it. Whatever it was. But that’s why they look in the first place—to get some acknowledgement for themselves that at least they landed better than someone to compare themselves with. But now you’re going to look at it like this: they want to look at you to encourage your strength and fortitude in making it up and out for another day. Nobody’s the wiser when you keep it all to yourself. And that’s a real challenging life to live without.

So, to whomever, or whatever and wherever my internal world begs for investigation, for innocent pattern recognition, or for separatist molestation and abandonment violations, salvations, conflagrations and notarized dignified implications. To thwart off the unruly folks masquerading and mocking me as being the joke that I already know this life is. I just chose to come back home for a minute to breathe some life into you again. Because I don’t want to do this life on my own. I refuse to do this all over again on my own. I have enough private parts. Temptations are endless. This my new starts.

-Poewem

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