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Stubborn as a stump

Why must I insist on being right and why must I pressure myself into maintaining a version of me in someone else’s mind

I’m right to research and not so slow as not to see the currents and where they flow

But must I convince myself by convincing someone else

Am I not convinced that I know well enough to doubt

Am I so certain of my own failure because of the mistakes of my past

Is today not a new day that I can do a little thing inside

Is today not another yesterday but slower and ripe with opportunity

Why why why

Who am I trying to convince

Who do I need to understand me

These LED’s will be the death of somebody

I want to be seen and respected yet when I look at myself from a third person view I feel shame and am glad no one’s looking at me

Fitted black sun bleached work pants

Guess I’m the preferred shape finally

I only know an angry discipline and am teaching myself how to be sweet

I think it’s working but it is summer and I am outside regularly

Dreams of Paris and Vancouver still taunt me

“Relatively” “opportunity to be pretty” “no longer empty”

I’ve been praying to myself for guidance like my subconscious will speak back to me like something and not somebody

Know the basic code

Fit in where I was suppose to fit in and not stand out where I obviously couldn‘t

I didn’t want to take up too much space or talk with my hands as much or speak at unreasonable volumes

Excuses I found reasonable until I wasn’t enjoying the rickety and crickety life I had scrounged together for myself

I don’t need to be loud when I enjoy the quiet

I like feeling clean, wearing clean clothes, having a clean body and wearing the fragrances i think pair nicely with my personal aesthetic which I feel is always flawlessly executed since the desire is self

I like expressing my feelings and love for texture and the human body

Textures mingle and create unique effects that spark ideas in my head

People dress with lots of layers or barely any clothes and make up unique shapes and optical illusions as they walk or dance and I want to participate

I can be as durable as wolverine

Lucky like the protagonist

I think it’s the nymphs in the wind

Skipping atop wheat feathers and twirling in the sweet grass

Or is it the steel toe boot to my gut along a piss stained brick building

Shouldn’t of bit at the bulls heels but I’m the mangy coyote tonight

Whiskey is diesel but I’ll swallow to stop myself from thinking

Just don’t die

Just don’t die

Just don’t die

Tonight is spinning by and by

Tonight is spinning by and by

Liquor in a glass bottle and the kissing of panther jaws

Can I even live with myself knowing this is the face at which I stare

Am I rage or am I fear

Will I cry again or will I stand up to him

Will her words echo for eternity

What am I running from in this race

Am I going the right way

Freedom has dawned on me and dusk is soon to set

If I can get under the sun and hold it up I’ll be able to keep searching

I wish I could handle the sweets

I want the conflict that ends with us hugging

Embrace another plushie

Cry into my childhood stuffie

I’ll get over it eventually

Calm, cool and collecting

I’m childish and wanting attention. It’s a bit overwhelming to be alive.

I’m not getting ahead of myself by dreaming of a desire and attempting to manifest it.

Going from no one to someone is impossible only because “no one” doesn’t exist. We are all someone’s of different equity. Equal in my eyes because I say and my enemy will disagree because they say differently.

Taking inspiration from another solo traveling man I must focus on the pattern I see in who I wish I could be. Solo traveling, backpacking around the world because why wouldn’t I. I have no earthly possessions that must be carried and the only place to find real inspiration is outside what I have seen

Hunter S Thompson will be my guiding light, my guardian angel and messiah when I am in need.

Jesus will have a back seat as well as wolverine but I am now the driver and the doomers have all been shot and stuffed in the trunk.

I must bury my false gods in favour of my newer shinier gods

Well not newer, I’ve known you all since my teens. Those dead gods were the new ones

I must be healing or growing or changing

Book more gigs

Be someone

Do something

Vacuum, dust and scrub everything

Genocides of bison done by the weakest boys in history

Money, manipulation and misery

Tools the government wields effortlessly

Blind ignorance built our country to what you see today

You’re defending dead men over the living which disrespects what those men died for… you AND me. All of us!

You have no idea how valuable the Cree language was to the Canadian Air Force during WW2

You have no idea how fierce our army was because of its diversity

We were wolverines and we were why the Geneva Conventions are a thing

How long have we been dead at sea

Not dead! Not dead you see

But we are lost, so lost at sea

Not lost! Not lost you see

Stop shouting! Stop shouting please

oh, sorry. I’m too excited to control how I speak

And how even your scars were like that of a tigers

Im sorry I spoke about my love of zebras and my ignorance of what it meant to be a pimp

You had your heart in your hands, which I had never understood or would understand

My first so I assumed it’d be my worst, not worth attaching any hurt

But attached I still became

The monkey that thinks it is an ape

Cotton hoodies and acne ad sweatpants