Brutal Honesty: Rebellion’s Trip

Storms around
I look and see
might as well
be a raging sea.

Look how I
don’t go for the ground.
It is routine
the irreverence found.

I’m a taught
strait laced trip.
Except for
rebellion I do sip.

It boils and
and tests nerves.
Maybe that’s
what I deserve.

Now you
can see me as
what I am
a loud outcast.

Or so I
tell myself.
I’ll file now
me on a shelf.

A to Z
the shelf’s in order.
Always
stories of the disorder.

So I regress
back to my ship.
Upon voyages
where rails I grip.

For the journey
on those special days;
I ride the wind.
Listing all the way.

I’ll be studious
my life’s book-keep.
Watch me now
how well I do sleep.

Write till dawn,
life a prolonged song.
This day I say
all right things wrong.



Categories: Choices, Ego, Freelance, Personal, Poetry, Understanding

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

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