cracks of lightning in a storm,
ricocheting around me in crowded rooms,
floating innumerable, filling the air,
ever clawing ever threatening to have their piece of me,
until they fall, as liquid amber obscuring the path ahead,
the words in my life.
Well stuff you (words),
you don’t own me,
don’t hold power over me,
you're not the boss of me!
I’ll kick you down the path in the broad unforgiving swagger of
scuff you under acid proof soles,
grind those that dare swirl back against me into the rough concrete,
upon which I am destined to tread.
I ...choose the words
that define me.
Which words you ask?
You would do well to tremble in the not knowing,
do well to scurry and gather,
to collectively scramble to figure out how to please me that I might bring
bestow upon you the life you crave,
raise you from the oblivion you know such that you might be aired and
..in ..my ..shadow.
Hear this words,
and take heed.