Skip to main content

Throw your soul through every open door.

Scarlett O'Hara may have been onto something. She often gets a bad rap, the green eyed vixen. But, she is experiencing trauma from a civil war and loss of life so she extrapolates her considerable charms into a coping mechanism which has heretofore succeeded. As for the rest, it's beyond her control and today she must do, not think.

The difficulty lies in the thinking because, for some, You Must Be This High is never high enough to ride That Ride. Once y'all are strapped in, there's no place to go but Low. Soon enough, the thrill is gone and y'all are left with a throbbing head and churning guts. For which, there is no help. Just cut your day short. Stuck on the hot pavement, feeling cheated, on the longest walk of a lifetime back to the car lot. While some planned ahead and noted the location of their vehicles, y'all skipped off carelessly and look what that got ya. It's probably gonna rain and y'all don't have the right shoes. So now, with the blurry pain behind one eye, there are two reasons for the stymied vision.

The most frustrating thought of all is the realization that all could have been avoided if only y'all would have left those thoughts to themselves. That is all they were ever good for.

Frankly, y'all are consumed with eroding thoughts which border on obsessive and regardless of how you stamp your foot or toss your curls, y'all can't change the past because it doesn't give a damn. So think about it Tomorrow is another day.


Popular posts from this blog

Just get out the way, and let the gentleman do his thing.

Retired Memphis Police Department Chief Inspector Robert Jones came to my pool party the other day. Over hot dogs and fruit salad, he regaled his grandchildren with tales of his days in Special Services on the police force. That's SWAT to you and me.

Among those anecdotes, he spins a yarn that includes a tear gas capsule hidden on the motor of a car full of pimps and ladies of the night, effectively expelling these law breakers out of a Buick Electra 225, running crazy. Later, he would be appointed Chief Inspector, along with fellow officer James Bolden (who also served MPD director), climbing his way up the career ladder with an excellent work ethic. But, before all that, he was a regular joe on the beat, paying his dues. Only, this fiery, young Irishman was going to do it his way.

They called him The Flame. Not only for his ability to run like one but, there was also that shiny red hair. In his youth, his stubborn independence got him into some trouble so he channeled that and mad…

I was so scared to face my fears.

Why You even trust us with so much, I can't even imagine. We alternate between pumping triumphant fists in the air and rocking quietly in the corner, squeezy eyes and knitty brows, vulnerable to the next thing next. In a matter of weeks, issues that include extreme trauma, mental illness, genetic disorders, and tired, old grudges, which serve to poison the waters, pass through our hands. We stand, arm in arm, carefully considering whether we are meant to dodge or take the shots:What are we supposed to be to learning?
Can we set it gently to the side and move along?
Is this our burden to bear for a season?
Who is wearing hearts on sleeves?
and should we?It's hard to say in a world of emotions but I KNOW our hearts are true. Even in their ugliest states, we keep it real. Sometimes, we're all Daigle, inspired and fortified, but, as many times as not, we're blasting Adele, accidentally alienating the ones we love and raw as can be. Let's just keep the Gungors, Eminems …

You built me palaces out of paragraphs.

You're so sure I don't hear your words. Maybe you think there's too much weary history for me to contend with New & Fun. You hear told of the time before yours and sometimes you feel alone. Maybe you've even wondered if I'm still up to the challenge.
You assume too much, Love Child, because yours are the words I've been waiting for all my life.
So many words.
My time before you taught me to talk less and hear more but I sift through ALL your words and listen for your heart.
Without your words, how could I know that you sometimes say what you don't mean just because you feel too much to articulate?
Without your words, how could I know that you are unsure and insecure about who you might become?
How could I know, were I not listening, that you often hold back because you think it's not quite your time?
Without your words, how could I know how much you root for the underdog with a righteous anger?
Without your words, how could I know that you often …