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I am not white.

They call me white, those who seek
to box me in, probably from pain of
being boxed in themselves.

Black, brown, tan and pink—the color
of skin and hair, eyes that care,
the multi-colored reality that is
difference, in the soul…

which dreams to be free of your
restriction or theirs, color blind
to the time or look, the thinness of
superficial appearance having nothing
to do with the substance of life’s

the journey a neat ride of overcoming
obstacles, unless you choose to die.


I chose to live, after my friend killed
himself; I overdosed twice trying to
decide what “death” was and that if
perhaps I wanted to taste it.

I hurt myself, I found God through
the muck of alcohol, drugs and lies,
the kind that divides—doctors’ offices
stealing from the public treasury so
our sidewalks fester in trash, cracks
and flies—

No intentional harm done, but the
devil running us away from God into
that office.

“Please, person with multiple college
degrees, tell me what to do.  My life

SAY IT!!!! the devil hopes, SAY IT!!!  Put
your life in a doctor’s hands, put your life
in a fellow fallible human’s weakness,
and I, sayeth the Punk, I have you!!!!


Or say no.

Say no to waste, to superficial haste,
to judging because you once were judged,
turn the other cheek as Jesus advised,
or do nothing as Lao Tzu supplied.

For nothing is a far cry, and far better indeed
than doing Something dumb.