i hate the ties that bind
us to our past hopeless heritage broken ancestry cursed legacy why must the blade always be brought to the dinner table for the inevitable defense why must the barbs always come on the underside of greenbacks with selfish intents the ties that bind my hands behind my back my sight turning black this cord around my neck and she pulls and she pulls and i snap and i snap the dye is cast and the black sheep is in everybody laugh she’s the scapegoat again at the whim of the mad hatter and that bitch queen of hearts paint the roses red though the garden falls apart eighteen years and counting this nomad has roamed where all the free range chickens find a voice of their own truth will be honored both within and without let kindness and conviction be the words in your mouth so bleed all the bloodlines and fat-timber the tree she’s writing a new story and the soul shall be free.
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about the writer.“Words are only postage stamps delivering the object for you to unwrap” (George Bernard Shaw) past tense.
January 2019
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