What you got in your DNA, Jaguar?
I got the blood of poets,
Magicians and musicians!
There’s been a film sliding between me
And the stone of reality
Since I was young,
The film of culture
And a whole family line
Of ingrained self-destructive thought programming
That seem to be married into a rather unhealthy
Long term arrrangement.
Now it seems the reel is at its end,
Tugging off the spool and about to snap,
Tearing off its attachment clips,
Even as the spool is connected to
A wheel that wants to keep spinning:
Half the problem was getting to the end of the script,
Emerging here, at the end of His Story.
But a new challenge arises:
What story do I write next?
What? In place of
Nothing I ever do is right or good enough.
What? In the aftermath of
No one sees me or cares about my existence.
What? To fill the space in the derangement of
I don’t know what love feels like, so
I can’t give or receive it.
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