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My thoughts on escaping the past

Bahtuhkid · my thoughts about the past

When I think I’ve escaped the past

I know my Ma doesn’t drink alcohol and she Sort of kicked me out without kicking my ass.

My daughter cried

Tatiana didn’t meow

I came back to the place where I thought I would relapse

I went to buy cat food

shop was closed

memories of that drug dealer who shine bright with implanted teeth

£4000 inclusive holiday

I could have gnashed

Instead, I congratulated him for his holly wood smile with panache.

Using my money to fulfill another dream — one more ticked off his bucket list

It’s so sad

I’m back in the house

haunted by ghosts of the past.

Mother wouldn’t let me in

steam off on a legal poison

Get Sleep with Prosecco & a gin with a 60 pence glass.

Daughter cried I packed my bags

I saw her cry for our cat

I packed up all my bags

And walked out like an immature twocker

with a dirty rash.

DIDI WANT TO SCORE THE GREATEST OF THE GREATEST OF SNIFF?

Nah, all I wanted was freedom & to sleep without alcohol and illegal grass or bash.

Here I sit in darkness not happy to be back.

I have a packet of lamberts and Prosecco I’m NOT interested in drinking until I’m befokkered.

I won’t sleep

Forever forgotten all thoughts that made me  high

Making drug dealers run for corruption, greed, and bite so compared to ash Wednesday like sinners driving by.

My bee she cried for my Tatiana

I left

 Guilt came flooding for sleep in a bed

where my inner whore rode the men who treat me like trash

Except for my soul mate …

He told me to fuck off and I gladly said

Fuck you

Went to the shop

Closed

no

cat food.

Found spring water tuna-I

Felt Less guilty

felt less crass.

Went against the momma bears rule.

I’m a wildflower with an instinct to rebel from life rules.

THE FALLEN ANGEL WITH INVISIBLE WINGS

If chickens could fly  higher I’d fly higher than the dragon from the land of sniff  ready to rape

& Chase

fOr an extra taste.

In coma 5 days x another  5

In a coma, I remembered the alien abduction

Their torture made me atone to live life differently

I’d even believe in mom’s anointment of Jesus Christ.

Thorns of roses

Thorns of self-destruction.

Alone with my cat — my husband won’t come back-

My child is probably still crying.

I’m alone again

I can’t complain

This was my choice.

I want to sleep

Dream of  our family home

help those who shouldn’t live a history worse than orphans blurred vision live on the African continent

Not their decision.

*written on 13 June at 11 pm.  2020 ( today is 29th June and still wanting to Live)

I didn’t relapse. I didn’t want to get high. I had a drink because I needed to sleep and I’m on sleeping medication 5 days a week out of 7. I’ve asked my doctor to take me off 15 mg of Nitrazepam that I had been since 2007.

It three weeks since I tried to take my life and nearly succeeded, maybe Life is not finished with me yet because my family were told to prepare  for my death, brain damage or me being paralyzed*

The Rage

Rage incensed unfurled by the scent of the Unsaged.

The Wisest fool, I know.

Marked with your own hands

let your vapid swimming champion attempt to have a  go

Let you paw my naked flesh

blue rinse.

Touch me up and make me think I wanted you for sex.

I don’t give a fuck!

Get out my of my head, black-mouthed dog.

I got my hands sullen – fresh paint can’t hide your taint revolving around my mind.

I write with these hands because I don’t know what else to do if I sit with my thoughts

what else will I find?

Paranoid thoughts, I was doing just fine.

Soul crooners lull me into an artificial lullaby.

Black soul

desperate to pull the remainder of my smile -on the down line.

Graphic infatuation, little girls grow up. I put my hands in the air.

My new escapism became you

There is no edge about you

indeed your toxicity is your strongest flair.

On the border screaming – furry fury cloaks me.

You took advantage, you sick fucking spatial wasted amoebic basket case.

Slap you,  disgrace you.

Shame you.

You took advantage and to hell with you.

I suffer still because I let you have me.

No regrets?  fuck that – knowing you live is the cord around my neck.

Choke me, pollute the air -in my world. it’s not fair.

No, life ain’t fair.

Break. it. down.

Trace my heart – find a pulse – wearing my heart for all to show -has led to this current plumous demise.

Despise – I’m spitting mad.

You think you got me had?

Leave my mind – cybersex or sext with the one with the most milkshakes accumulating in her breasts.

I back away -Every.Single. Day.

My greatest doubt is you.

My biggest mistake was believing you -believing in you.

I’m bored. I’m tired. I feel like you’ve drawn out the last pint of blood from my veins.

Silence  your kind.

Judge not those who seem a reflection of myself.

Your kind is everything that drags me into the knockers pit – I know about that mine.

I know the rules now.

Not worth it. Wasted.

Not worth recycling.

If I see you again count on a different primitive play out.

You ain’t no clever clogs  – your seduction techniques consist of stirring drunken lust.

You can’t even get your playmate up – he so broke – he to lame to even cough up and say I’m bust

See my belly button?  I ain’t your mommy – there ain’t no umbilical cord,

Snap out of this maced crowdy place.

Am I losing it because of a hillbilly with a familiar face?

Contravene – isophane

Get out of my mind.

Tickets for you – you need to pay hundreds in fines.

Here’s the unpolitical correct version – may your mind be haunted and possessed by the very wrong deeds you have done with your own venomous spew.

I hate you. I hate me. I hate that I let you get to me.

Immigrant? I’d rather be that than insignificant. who are you?

Who are you?

No metamorphosis fly buttering around.

Comparisons to what I have tossed away to one side.

If I end up in a grave with a tag on my toe.

Please, family, don’t own me. Call me Jane doe.

Such is the embarrassment for the one I almost gave up breathing – you so shallow – you so low,

then I realize you want to have that effect – crazy bastard. Your mind ain’t correct.

How can  I erase your dirty fingernails and unwashed face from my skin?

How could I let you touch me – lusted after you?    You dear, are not my sin.

Lost and a wandering always flock to the same ravine.

I’m not gonna drown in here -with you the last thought on  my mind

We all a bit crazy – you crazier than your previous generation of malignant space heads.

Fuck you. Fuck this – potions brewing. I’m on my way to Haiti to instil a dose of voodoo – you hoodoo – foo do – mush brain processed tin canned – factory-made – reset the defaults – you haven’t got a clue.

You think you some Who?

Have I told you lately I have some news for you?

 

 

Words are my moonshine

When you  feel you’re hanging on the vine,

Remember- a seed push forth a mighty sign.

You must  take the sunbeams and treasure what’s thine

Wild Kansas City is but one destination on the sign.

Take hope, light and lose the animosity,

for inside  you, there is no monstrosity

Get caught speeding in high velocity.

It’s not a train smash —  nor a catastrophe.

When you’re stuck in the middle of time.

Jump off the fence ‘cos that’s doing yourself a crime.

Don’t you let commoners  think your words cannot define,

Your value, worth and dreams are not benign.

Take it from the apple tree

He allows fruit to aid in his victory.

Oh don’t, hide like a willow tree

Cry, but remember you have a destiny.

Everything will start to — lookup —  allow the clouds to throw some shapes.

Open  them wide , mind expand — understand the lessons from life’s true greats.

You’re already one them-slightly chipped — still most valuable of porcelain plates.

Never doubt  what you can do —   take a leaf from natures golden ratio

You radiate when you guide the fates.

Lets’ lasso this  up and keep your spirit wild

Grow tall — never lose your inner child.

A silly poem  to spread to the crowd

Accept her quirks  — light-hearted, silly sap —  never lose a day when she has smiled.

*I Iwas inspired by the song ‘This little light of mine’. live, love, don’t hold as grudge. Remain true to who you are and you won’t stand alone for long.

 

 

i

 

 

 

 

slash/virgule poem

I light this vigil/ candles given to me by an individual/ a name I cannot give thee/ heart and mind forgive me.

and/or…

If I said his name is Slash/ he’s indecisively crass/more renowned as a light brush stroke/ his Latin name leaves a remarkable impression in repressed folk.

perhaps/ not…

It worries me that Axl hasn’t made up his mind/ more guns than roses-sublime/ A promiscuous murmur/ hidden in visual fervour.

confess/ snitch …..

Naming something can either increase/ diminish power/ I’m thinking psycho -you know – the scene in the shower? /If I had to reveal his true name is Virgule/ why does that visually conjure up an image in my mind of a gargoyle?

For the meaning of the word ‘Virgule’ scroll down.

This was so hard to do. I think I may have broken 100 rules and made up my own. Hey ho!

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Definitions for virgule

  1. a short oblique stroke (/) between two words indicating that whichever is appropriate may be chosen to complete the sense of the text in which they occur: The defendant and his/her attorney must appear in court.

Citations for virgule

It can be used, of course to indicate the choices, one or more, that may “properly” fill the blank space that follows. But the virgule need not be strictly identified with a particular or exclusive binary. It can be argued that the virgule is the poststructuralist punctuation par excellence (although a strong case can be made for the hyphen), in that is can be deployed to suggest the endlessness of binariness, a serial proliferation of constrastives in horizontally endless adjacencies …Virgil Lokke, “The Naming of the Virgule in the Linguistic/Extralinguistic Binary,” After the Future: Postmodern Times and Places, edited by Gary Shapiro, 1990

The path was cleared for the substitution of the verbalizable ”or” by the unspeakable ”/” in the legalistic term ”and/or,” which would be hard to say as ”and or or.” Now we are afflicted by the promiscuous use of virgules.William Safire, “On Language,” New York Times, May 24, 1981

Virgule entered English from French, where it means “comma, little rod.” It ultimately derives from the Latin virgula meaning “rod.”

DICTIONARY.COM

The Virgule

The virgule, often called the “slant bar” by computer users, has four specific uses in punctuation.

A virgule separates parts of an extended date.

Example: The 1994/95 basketball season.

Washington was born in February 1731/32.

A virgule represents the word per in measurements:

Example: 186,000 mi./sec. (miles per second)

A virgule stands for the word or in the expression and/or. (Though not considered standard, it sometimes stands for the word or in other expressions also.)

A virgule separates lines of poetry that are quoted in run-on fashion in the text. (For readability, avoid this with more than four lines.)

Example: Ann continued,”And up and down the people go,/ Gazing where the lilies blow/ Round an island there below,/ The island of Shalott.”

ENGLISH.PLUS.COM

Titivate

 

When She is in the mood to arouse you and  She wants you to reciprocate.

She has a technique she uses to spruce up her petals

inject a colour dye

No doctors needed to take an oath

 No need to hang dry and desiccate.

 

All she desires is to tempt you with her words.

She looks upon them as her Fire stoked Lords.

Simple and overused is tedious when used as commoner slurs.

So titivate is something She does.

It doesn’t require a zazen mind state to create an immediate demand for 1950 style  Fords.

Take a  dust feather to your ear, tickling it ever so slightly, a murmured breathe escapes – to let you know she is quite eager and indeed keen.

Arouse you with whispers of sweet adjectives.

Use words that excite you to shudder instinctively.

Now She needs to make herself seen.

Fluttering eyelashes – butterfly kisses.

 Sensual and cute -tempting yet blissfully innocent.

Pure and light and dreamy enough to set your imagination to seek out. Whatever is in that mind of yours…

She wants you to know She finds you alluring

magnificent.

Which of your senses does she wish to tease out the most?

The ones that arouse mental fuckability from an agile, graceful host.

Often she craves a tidy up just to try out something new.

 

Freshen the vibe up.

Create dribbles from your lush dew.

Bubbles have more of more a rambunctious appeal.

 Invite a sense of pure, exquisite fun

  Her mind seeks out to imbue.

So to titillate you, she has to titivate herself.

 

Seems rather rueful

Please be curious about what she has in her mind –

Truth is her middle name.

Look by all means.

 Dare is the name she gave to herself when she was born.

Feel free to question her too.

She speaks in orgasms when someone can make her laugh with their wit or indeed see a sparkle of hers thrown our carefree and unconsciously.

successful relationships are a honed practised recipe inciting those who have an inkling or some fledgeling clue.

 

Another heathen

Write to recover is what I always say.

I’ve discovered,

Is  few of my words  leave me whirling with  – I’m proud to park,  pay and display.

Deals are made,

devils I summon.

People are abused,

Charity leaps to a new order of Coven.

I write this way, with careless affray

to not lose a sense that words are tangible,

if  I work my fingers to imprint my genetic copyright

Confirming my DNA.

Some might say,

I try too hard

To write for better days .

Left to my own devices. I would live in clouds wrapped up in  grey hues-

a cemetery for all the left over  fillings

Thrown away, because of corrosive mouth decay.

In yer face!

Borderline – on the rocks.

I write to prove I’m far removed from serving  more time, in a straight jacket in New  Jack City.

Gangsters running around with silver bullet signed glocks.

I’ve spent my better days basking in  previous glory .

Like butter it melts away the fear  of sleeping dormant .

One wrong box and I’d have been mistaken for a Tory.

Liberal with my words, eager to serve and love all my friends with creative pulses .

Tic tacs, I guzzle-colours textured in obscure.

I fight these escapism ,  inauthentic, paradise bomber  impulses;

To get high with — to lose track of time.

To think

I need a  potion of artificial wired, chemistry alternatives.

Usually these act as a placebo.

Serve to knock off my crown of  free willed determinism.

Courage lives in a mane,

a city  near Massachusetts

Puritans might discover I’m Freud in a ghostly slip.

I’ll be hung ,

Hands lie limp by my side.

Bled feathers  will tickle  the crowd-

Show I  bluffed my way into the inner circle of creatives who have a grasp of the

same

sane

 mundane

chain.

Heads up!

Forever chasing  the dragon of stream  of consciousness .

My thoughts fail me,

I’m beginning to think,

I’ve become presumptuous.

The kindness in others  words — to allay my anxieties,

Overwhelms me .

I tie my own tubes.

Disgraced.

I refuse to give birth to a dancer  with stubs for toes, phalanges pimped out to strike a  quivering echo-like ,   Margot  Fontaine pose.

Inner fear corroborate with the sinner without a legitimate C.V.

Write nonsense-

The Lakers swan to the crowd

I’m a nutter.

I’d   crack a prince just to see a picture  of  a colourful scene.

Abstract,

Mindful – in  the lines.

It’s not important.

Just a visual spray of shamanic chakras to impregnate the rainbow-I foresee.

Leprechaun leave my latin beats to breathe.

Mouth the words of soft brie , camembert and  wild boar.

Grant me a baguette —    riddle away, and I’ll gather my thoughts to satisfy thee.

Goddess Luna grants a cycle to merge with my  rites in fertility.

Thoughts exiled to Siberia-paid to be alone.

My government  saves me.

My soul

I will put down-

Though I know I won’t gamble it all away.

I win back my losses

Trust me, I know there is always another day.

Write, write , write.

Each word is a  middle finger at the writers academia  establishment .

I don’t want to be even  almost famous.

I don’t need a book with my name on it.

I blog merely to pour my inner most thoughts out — free up my world.

It’s about as poetic as I can get.

How about I insert the word fragrant?

I’m not academic.

My passion is not systemic .

Always in a position to sky dive.

Risks thought about

After I land in the hornets hive.

Stings heal .

It reminds me I feel.

I live by my words ‘cos I’m irksome and caustic within.

I was born walking into  webs of contradiction

and, now,

All I beg is for  is a hint  of credit

For expressing myself in this audacious fashion.

I’m not here to chat ’bout literary success.-

I’m already thinking about my post party dressed as myself-

the bodacious writer ,

Who is in fact a sycophantic heathen.

Devil’s Sunshine

 

 

Devils sunshine

 promised hope of the sublime

 veins intertwined.

She will rock me into the seventh ming dynasty

Riding on the seventh wave.

Bars of gold  liquid molten pulsing around my corpse.

Dear lord , can you save me  from this devil ?

She goes by the name of  Sultan

To rhyme eloquently

I try not;

Fore mere words in visual

This

My daily bosom

This is all I’ve got.

* inspiration for musing listening to this song and listening to a friend mess about with his KORG VOLCA SAMPLER

featured image photo credit domugraphic on Twitter

I don’t want to be in your soul tribe

Here she comes

Me -the late bloomer

I have a revelation words matter circa 2015.

ALL WORDS MATTER.

Let me try and type something with substance

Words have power.

We

collectively should choose our words carefully.

Don’t stop talking.

hashtag it’s still okay to talk.

start a difficult conversation.

Mental health is here for as long as we humans are.

For real…

Stop with the sincerely Stan – suicidal fan stereotyping –

Passive aggressive greeting -Hello hunties

Yes I have a cunt and I won’t let any man hunt me -unless he is prepared to be chased too.

How can we all be so woke when

we stilll choose to believe in fake news?

People love to give blow jobs on other peoples words.

Most people swallow and don’t spit.

Retweet it to keep it 100.

can we put a value on integrity?

Words matter -when we stand up for our belief to break away from the mould.

Open mic night’s expressions should be honoured by doing our words -over and over.

Especially when people aren’t watching.

Show and tell how to walk the talk.

Match a wage bet — that another brother’s claims of little Miss trouble are too high key.

It’s okay to talk.

Tupac once said

real eyes

realize

real lies

People should see before they make a judgement.

express yourself – in the social accepted way –

Aspire to appear lowkey?

All these quotes about

Keep your personal business to yourself. –

then do a 180 and take the ” power back”.

A calculated performance

reveal you know how to manipulate words – with barely legal finesse.

Hashtag wars still matter.

Use language for positive change.

Talk.

Start a difficult conversation.

Think about your fellow patient in the opposite bed.

Why does she haveresting bitch face syndrome ?

Why does she stare at back after you state

‘That feeling when you feel like Briney spears circa 2007?

oh you have problems – you slit your wrists – oh how savage – roll of the eyes.

Let’s get creative with our words.

affected by a mental illness.

infected…..

Lives with a mental illness ?

or suffers from a mental illness?

How savage (roll of eyes)

These labels – – schizophrenics. Bipolar , psychotic

2018 is the year where Everyone wants to be insane 😉

the reason to be a certain way is the new aesthetic

or an excuse

to be lowkey about our true shame and high key about superficial hurt not to lure in the Stans.

Whose that?

It’s not relevent as long as I get approval from my fam or

my Sis from another Miss.

We are more than a tick boxed list of criteria.

We are complex humans , with diverse traits and interests.

Who is that? Over there- making a statement.

Crazy

psycho

nuts

lunatic

Not relevant – That there is just some extra.

insignificant

to you;

Not part of the true fam –

Is this how we wish people to feel?

Insignificant!

For all the RT’ers out there who love to share,

Share your own personal story.

The world will become a place where you are lit by your integrity.

Not everyone can relate to the G.O.A.T.’s

with swagger.

We probably are pretty for real when we embrace our bromances and our militant feminists.

True power is being woke enough to see the ethic in bringing out the G.O.A.T. in EVERYONE of us.

We can all be be lowkey.

we are all fam.

I’m not going to say its cool to call my new ‘ship interest- Dad.

Words matter

and the lack of them.

What we don’t say .. is a statement of power.

Spoken word – maybe we all have inner dictator waiting to stand up and be heard.

I don’t know how we can claim to be so woke when everything we do is to death.

What am I going on about?

Apologies for this is the mix in slang –

I’m not pedantic … I am keeping my integrity – my code of of ethics.

If we are going to talk and be true about our feelings – Remember that the words we use to connect on a level can out you as a hypocrite –

Words matter because they help us communicate and relate with a diverse bunch of people who may end up feeling like family more than your own Dad or sis.

Communication can cause dis -ease – challenge our own self awareness;

Not because you the go to p[person to get the latest scoop on someone else in life detention.

Its cool to be high key about not fitting the mould –

Embrace the idea that to be holistic is not going to conform to your method of living –

for real.

WE don’t have to be conventionally spiritual to have faith.

Well-being of the mind and body is the G.O.A.T.

– the power –

the perfect ratio.

Sometimes we fall – human after all ..

I guess

When we outcast others for assuming their make up

judging every part of them based on an undemocratic vote of what a person’s true disposition is.

How fair and unbiased are our Hugh key views when we don’t have the whole picture?

That moonscape – that attitude is a predisposition to sus and ghost others because of their diversity.

We spit words , stand up for diversity and equality –

Express ourselves through didactic verse.

Congratulate our selves on our ethics- to embrace the variety of our culture.

The irony is what we say and do,

What we day we are going to do.

And what we do when confronted with someone who is different and not facile two understand.

How quick we are to turn into heartless bastards and turn away from our own race.

Everyone is quick to look at the other person.

I Don’t see colour .. I’m not racist

I don’t discriminate, I’m well up for equality.

“Look at those tits!”

“She looks well up for it.”

“crazy, cheating man hating bitch.”

“disrespecting my bro..”

Consult the bro code.

This divine, esoteric oracle states that she was asking for it.

She’s trouble.

Aaah aaah aaah baah

True story – a woman lived under apartheid then came to live in the patriarchal society of English gentry. Shes spoke up for herself – acted like a dude -how dare she!

Embraced the spoken word and unashamedly campaigned for the right that it is truly ok to talk.

Segreted cos she is diverse and predispositioned to speak her mind, she made as many fuck ups as the people she met and spent time with.

She decided to end her life with

these words

I don’t don’t give a fuck, I know the world is bigger than a few small minded ,feeble gossips who use their words to bond

I died to reborn .

I answer to nature not people.

Maybe she wrote

Heard the one about instagram being cocaine delivery service ?

Meme- it.

Nah! I just go for the pictures, personally but the deep dark web -hides

mews of creatures -deep- internally.

My world luxed out with a sunny day.

A line scented with silver

made for an olfactory disguise – remnants of rotting fish odor .

Murdered a child – fetus borne out of a reflux screaming match.

Woke up alive -bloated tummy and a 5 month walking nightmare-

It’s a boy – he secreted into every orifice

Raped me

respectably

Allowed insanity to become my better face.

Overdosed on affirmations

never have regrets

Turned around and married a man likened to the son of god

Fallen angel -I am

The humor isn’t lost.

Lets do a rewind – I’m allowing requests.

Here I am typing…

writing – spouting off words

Maybe one day it will all make sense.

Do or Dye

Sitting on the roof top trying to tell myself I’ve not misbehaved.

Blush rose hues creep up my cheeks and I know my hearts desire is unexplained.

I look at the stars — one always stands out brighter than the rest.

I say to myself — there goes my next conquest.

With liberal wings and green peace in my heart ,

I know for the sake of inhabiting my skin-unconfortable feelings will always play a part.

Forgive me for  being free spirited and seeking out a bon ami.

If I had testicles would  my new gender let me walk free ?

to be me?

It’s a plea.

I love what I desire .

I desire what I love .

I hate it when my sanity decides to imitate a neat whisky on the rocks.

Truth be told – I know I’m getting old .

Disambiguous feelings about the path I tread.

May my daughter’s laugh always bring me round to the sound of present day clocks.

Murmurs of hesitation .

Live my life, have a voice, and sail away

Where else do you think I would choose for a holiday destination?

The one I never have to come back from.

It’s me inside me.

Dare to take a part of me — feel my anticipation.

The specials-the after math.

Told  off for  my impulsive reaction.

The fact I’m conscious I am typing these words-

I feel inauthentic in how they roll out my mind with a hesitant tense formation

Words rise up ,around me – Jab me and a jeer me to dare say whats on my mind.

I’m not a child and I’m not venerable just yet .

So I swim against the tide of the alphabet soup.

Clarity I seek.

One tidal wave from forcing myself to write these words down;

If only to reinforce I have my own sound.

Sound as a pound

Scared of clowns .

That’s better-Socs — that’s my deal.

My contraband.

How I get from a-z- without reaching out for the  plan involving illegally, prescribed Ativan.

Banned from my perception of the elite.

Breached my licence to complete…

Should I hit delete?

This is my beat.

I won’t let me beat me down.

Self is the worst enemy-you know how it ages your reflection

scowling in a frown.

She’s back in business now . Wah da da da da — the song clearly has relevance in my sense of decline.

Fall 8 times — get up again.

Who am I to want merely blend in?

I was born to be a Bengal feline.

Character building — life coach ,I sense my patience won’t let me vote for your reality T.V. yoke.

It makes me sick.

Confession .

Watch one episode and I will mutate into just one more cockroach.

I’m on the down line with a mean upper hook.

Priorities in order.

House work infected by the pox — aren’t you glad you vaccinated your park life children?

Let my demon free to infiltrate the anti’s, confront them with the disease bitten book.

Have a say — what’s the worst that can happen?

Speak your mind — illegal aliens might just descend from that planet called Saturn.

Write to recover. Write to escape.

Shake up your mind , dare to continue —an inner ongoing live debate.

Not for hate — you make your own fate.

Feeling Anxiety. Too worried about what John Sax’s might reveal to his munchie  queen.

Know thyself and be true to yourself.

I’m not going to change my character to fit in with society’s latest heart melt.

Superstitious mind – I earned it in walking my path — did you see my black belt?

Stand up for who you are and what you believe in.

Some may consider me strange but have you had a look at your inner heathen?

The entity is back — no wheel-dealing with a bad batch of sugar coated crack.

6 million ways to die — choose one 

That came from a song – Who am I to sit around and hide?

The song -contains  some cussing and may offend feminists …..  😉 Maybe not this song 😀  Idk.