so much as muddy to rinse in ditches to grow into our ghettoes. raw personal behaviors, or looming energies, aside from the poolhall. women on poles, pimps in shadows, hanging on to a last leg. our begging bodies our rage-filled brains or language a child shouldn’t hear. a seven-year old addict a nine-year old trafficked or a soul desecrating her mother’s image. “You’re just like your father. He left me, too. Both of yall can go to hell.” something to rethink, where one might gain clarity, as to realize why father left…to spread wings to get closure while a child becomes a casualty. by wrath of its war by cages of its disgrace or suffering long into our damages…to hate all parties or to give mother tyranny while expecting something one cannot give. a teaspoon of existence, a teacup of pain, where most default to feeling abandoned; so much by unclarity, so untidy inside, where
thoughts tend to dismay us.
at this moment, I can’t see you, while it may be indefinite. I fret its reality, but be it true or false, I never outright consider self as some victim. (but it should amaze, how nothing has gone correctly, while we mingle with other mentalities/other cultures. something
expects correctness, in broken souls, where no one has gained much training. the addict needs a program. the physician needs a doctoral schematic. & pain needs credible education. we get lost in ideals, as such we haven’t earned, where most just need that ‘something’ to work out of its own
accord
—no real toil, such little application, while struggle is out of the question: the relationship must fit me; the boss must understand I am different; the kids must naturally obey me: our existential is dependent upon our inner perception while true rigidity, as stressing facts, is greatly forfeited.) I rant a bit I teach a bit but I try to touch that one conscious/conscience second. (you might fret the stranger. you might feel unspoiled. you might iron without starch. indeed, you might
feel
unwanted or terrorized by thoughts while many are tackling something they can’t
understand: initial irritability; something un-new arising with vague clarity;
or a unique temperament. it becomes consciousness, while it alienates while alienated,
where it must be the disabled person. such flaunting indifference, where most
feel perfect, even more so than our mystic heroes.
