The ambiguous monster

The back drop is a behemoth of unbelievable size. It haunts your history and the very enterprises you've put your faith in. It's behind the teeth of the sales trainer you had at a job that you stuck out for three weeks. It's space between you and your authenticness. There is a reason you get so bored, and quit almost everything you start. You notice the house starting to bow and frown under the weight of this beast. The weight you feel under loving. It's the pain that comes when you touch me. Is this prose? I wouldn't say so. It's the ambiguous defense to as not point a precise finger , for fear of seeing it too clearly. 

Are you going to get the best of me?

Are you getting too defensive?

The questions I ask are intended to point the narrative at you and all you know, and how you speak all the time. The words inside of me come as they do, and I could never try to have a style. The things I find funny are buried somewhere between the back door and the old woodshed. I laugh when I cry, and I find that funny.

 

Take arms with your wits and humor and remember it is up to you to figure this all out for the rest of us. Take care of yourself please. I want nothing more from you. You're the heavenly host we've been waiting for. I hope your word is made flesh, because you're mind is actually beautiful. I don't want you to be afraid anymore. I want you go into that dark night. You are the bastion of the hope to remember a better future. Now unwrap your presence under the family tree. And smile your biggest smile, with your holy teeth once more.