I mean, how can you not blame yourself when you’re the one buying outrageous amounts of alcohol just to guzzle it down your exhausted esophagus. Nobody else is putting any of these drinks into my hand…
Do I think about my time and cause of Death? Yes, here and there. But, pushing through, head-first, is the mission day by day during a period in my life where I can’t afford to look down. Because, as soon as I wake up, it feels as if my walls are closing in on me…
*Bang, bang, bang!*
*Bang, bang, bang!*
I know what you’re thinking, but no. I’m not referencing Friday where John Witherspoon (rest in peace!) was elaborating on his love for catching dogs to his son Craig while taking a Dump. That’s usually the first sound I hear in the morning, as Mom ferociously punches my bedroom door trying her best to throw me back out into the street…
“Get a fucking room, get out, satan, Devil!”
A string of menacing words that enter my mind while she blerts it out from her nicotine-infested mouth. 8 a.m. jingles any pair of ear drums would be scared to listen to. Hysterical. Yet! I let it be…
Why not? Why not let the ridiculousness ensue? It gives my hungry, pudgy fingers another story to manifest from paper, into reality. Poetry, it’s everything I live for. The difference this time around versus any other time, is that I use my family’s hate as pure motivation to write on and ride on…
To the next poem, story…
Brings a smile to my face, you know? Even if I may have a 4 loco 2/3’s of the way gone at 12:50 p.m., early afternoon, all I think about is every word dancing with my Brain. Every word bringing joy to a face that hardly smiles unless it sees a pen in my palms. Some paper in front of my face…
May seem a bit crazy to believe, but, I can stay glued to my seat, even with Society burning down in Hell fires all around me, as I smile from cheek to cheek with a journal resting solemnly on top of my desk. Why, you ask? Don’t know…
Would never be able to answer a question unable to be answered. I guess the best way to explain that fiery image is, if Poetry was a woman? I’d propose and Marry her the same day. And, being that our God is a creator amongst many things, I believe a happy union between two souls, Man and Woman, is the most perfect representation of God that can ever exist. A happy union, all I’ve wanted. And I made that happy union with, Poetry. My beloved for eternity…
Stay Blessed,
Mel ❤
m3l0dicverse 
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