to be, to do

I Resist.
I don’t conform.
Even when I do.
My heart with Never conform.
Not to the quo.
Not to the ‘musts’.
Its part of my nature.
Part of the non-conformist dialogue.
And when I snap my pics
it’s also to explain.
To explain my view,
Share my perspective …
the intricate. the narrative. the story within the story.
I was a child.
I still am a child.
I was a frightened child.
Who survived an extraordinary experience.
Who choked on a dick too large for her
tiny throat.
And she’s been choking ever since.
They named it pts(d) and said I was super sad.
So sad that I may harm myself.
But I didn’t.
Not on purpose anyway.
Instead I died, just a little, as the shit got kicked
The head got beat
The heart got broke
The bottle got empty.
And all she could do was cower.
So cowering became the sport.
The sport for healing.
The transport for unfolding.
To build a bubble that could expel the fear
and protect the good.
the good being, Me,
So, so serious has been my pain.
So so serious has been my tone
that even the lights are angry
the brightness is broken.
So she went and flipped the switch off.
Off. Till another could be found.
Not a replacement.
An entirely new form of light and dark.
Where the script is written in the dark
And the sleep takes place under the sun.
A place where an opposite is another.
Another option.
Another alternative.

kpm ©


 

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