Monday, July 23, 2012

...that I'm not.

I am vinegar and water.
An exotic windowpane with domestic reflection.
They raised me this way, to think without color
The color of my own skin.
Forced prejudice meant nothing
I learned all I needed
In everything they didn't say.
The hue of the morning is light
My primary utterance- laughter
A gift comes along without warning
The reception of which, guarantee's value.
I smile in my new born day
Thankful for all I don't see
And yes, even for what I have not yet felt-
Touched, or taken.
Where there is mystery, there is love
Those secrets yet revealed hold a 'yes'
To every misunderstood notion that I am
Someone that I'm not.
Confusion thrusts those particles up
From the floor, my countenance hastens
Anchored in by my responsibilities
That ripcord of safety- secure.
For the 'second guessing' comes in handy,
You see.

I am a dual-action pistol,
Firing twice to get the job done
Failing now would blister my landing, and if
I am to fall, I will fall softly
Onto a plateau of care built through trust.
Trust that while walking through this life
I chose wisely when it came to the banter of my brain
That within these virtual hugs
There grows respect and reverence
For all we have yet to discover.

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