Small.

A festering nugget of self-loathing.

Deep within my core.

Acid bubbles up.

Small.

Huddled in the darkness.

Unblinking in the light.

Small.

Withdrawn.

Reclusive.

I feel.

Small.

Seasons past and months have gone and yet still here I am. Perhaps a bit rough for wear or mayhap a bit worn out, yet here I stand on mine own two feet as I set out across stormy waters. Such sort absence short of a lifetime in smaller people’s minds, a reprieve, amnesty, a stay of execution.

Will wings unfurl like laundry on a windy day, thermal columns, lifting waxen wings like Icarus? Or shall I sing sweet night gale against the polished brass. That guided cage, it’s satin sheets, it’s ivory posts, a delicacy not to be touched.

And here I stand between the new and what has already come, ash falling to my feet like the first winter snow, dusting my boots as my soul blazes into that eternal night of what is yet to come.

As I stare I am watched. As I walk I am followed. Arms outstretched like a mighty warrior the call of war down deep inside and waiting. A lump of coal ready to be stoked. Pressure. Diamonds. Light.

Sometimes I don't know if what I did was right. But I need to shut you before it was done to me. Mistrusting and messed up. I messed this up, but that's all happened to me before. Broken and abandoned how else could I feel. I didn't deserve to reply, no final say, the choice was made.

Fooled into a false sense of security I could tell myself I was betrayed. That the knife in my back was twisted not by I when it was my own doing that shoved it deeper.

The time I needed was not time I had as a firm drew thick around my eyes. Suffocating myself from you. The pot was stired. The brew boiled over and I am cleaning up the mess.

But just once I wanted to pick up the pieces together. The apologies did nothing as I picked up the pieces of our breaking realtionship and shambled them back together.

I longed for a plan, some action on your part when you could not read minds. But this battle was just like the ones before and your armies beat my all the same.

For how could I ever defend against you. I knew your troubles as if they were my own. Your were my one happiness. My striving for in this bleak existence. Friendship wasn't I word I ever took lightly.

As days became years you became the very dragon I was fighting to defeat. The lies, deceit. The one you warned me of so many times was the one you became.

My anger and frustrations, the very solution you urged to take became our downfall as they turned against you.

Our poles from two different planes, I no longer know where you are. My ice drifts away. Alone again. For the best. But why does it hurt. Why do I still feel, but not feel enough to end it all. Would you mourn me? Or even know? Have you thought of me or was I welcome good bye.

We didn't talk. We knew the problem. But now I know we are too far gone. Perhaps it was my pride. I didn't want to break the fagile shell. I wanted to be proved wrong to talk it out. But anger seized me and I smashed it. Us. Nevermore? 

As we often see, beauty is far and few between.

Fleeting in movement we can only hope to grasp.

As if our entire life is nothing more than the turning of a page.

Artfully it slips through our gasp, as such the nature of beauty is.

Life, effervescent in display, windows passing by,

While we as people, ephemeral, flowers in a field,

And our one last spring, bearing the burn of light.

Leads us running through life as if we've never walked.

A final afterthought in the universes' folds,

Lingering, hesitant, timid and unsure,

Poking into disparate ideologies, and varying paths,

Finding ourselves in the last league,

Free from bondage, rusty chains, weighted souls and heavy minds,

Aetheric realities of a rose colored world, and the shades of grey in-between,

Without a regret, having lived a life worth death.

She left her wallet behind and it stares at me like the plague. I don't want to touch it but I pick it up and sigh.

"Miss. Miss!"

When she turns around she's disgruntled annoyed. The last thing she wants to see is my face but I hold up the wallet as a reminder that she needs to be cordial.

"The barista pointed this out to me and I told her I'd run after you. Poor thing gets minimum wage and has to split tips with everyone in the store. Somebody else would have taken your wallet, but I'm sure they'll be fine without your continued patronage. That girl though? She's human. Not a slave, right? So have a bit of respect next time."

Writers block simply comes in many forms.

My personal own is depression. Another is not knowing how to carry a story forward. The ideas are there but are hard to string together.

Sometimes writing just simply isn't enough. Sometimes just writing doesn't help. Sometimes you need a break, read a book, gather ideas, and rest.

The brain may be plastic but a rubber ball can only bounce so high before it comes down.

I played with Susie yesterday,

But now she says to go away,

Her mommy doesn't want me near,

when I go out the streets are clear.

To Ferguson and those that follow,

What we need is not another revolution, we do not need fingers pointed at those not at fault and we do not need speculation that only harshens public opinion. Over the course of the last full calender year several incidents have been brought to light, and not only that but action have been take. Quiet recently #Blackout appeared across one of my social media sites with a rebuttal against some one wishing to view things other then an endless stream of Africans, and African Americans. Not only did the party fail to ask themselves why, but they instantaneously fired shots at the user. Calling them harmful names and calling them racist when in all actuality they know nothing of the person behind the screen. Hiding behind screens, television or otherwise leaves people as a whole more prone to jumping to conclusions and not only that but bandwagons.

If someone posts it and several agree it must be correct. Right? after all the were the first to report on a story or offer breaking news. And not only is this face value media believability the problem but also the feeling of being left behind, left out. If my story isn't front age then it doesn't matter. Lack of validation can lead to volatile reactions as people need someone other then themselves to blame.

True, they are as always those who dislike certain ethnic groups, but I believe that is rather as a result of the differences between the ethnic groups culture and theirs or the culture they have brought up in.

Change, can always be a reason for hate. Humans like predictability and their brains are hard wired to make sense of their world. This however can lead to poor representation.

My grandfather lived in Detroit back when it was nice and safe, he is and he acknowledges that he is prejudice, and he has told my mother that when African Americans moved in with their Cadillacs Detroit went to hell and that all the Caucasians moved out. This I believe was not as a result of their ethnicity but the culture they brought with them.

But when Culture and Ethnicity cross lines the result can become catastrophic. Stereotypes form and become 'innate truths' and those 'truths' become harder to break when a many few are villainised.

For those teens who have lost their lives to unfair circumstances and unjust beliefs, they were collateral damage.

And I can saw change the culture, but is that fair?

I can say increase the literacy rate and improve education, I can say move into better neighbour hoods, Bur can THEY?

And if they can't is it then their fault?

Is it their fault that lottery systems and lemon teachers are the fate of those who live in the bracts they have to?

That they aren't supplied the tools?

That they cant afford them?

But can I also tell others to live life as a blank slate and a hard to write pen and tell them to throw out each and every preconception of the world they have formed up to this day?

Well I can, But it doesn't mean they will.

Can I make people guard their minds with scepticism but hold a holistic view on life? Take truths with a grain of salt?

No.

But I can advise them, I can tell them that no amount of culture should bare understanding between ethnicity's. I can tell them that there are no racial constraints as society may say. I can tell them that no amount of misconception should grant one human being to demean another over something they can not change or things they do not hold self evident about themselves.

But I can not make a horse drink.