Saturday, August 12, 2017

Intiation


He was an angry child of a man and tore through hearts like they were paper tape at a finish line. To quiet the harpies of his pain he looked for comfort where he could find it -- smokes, tequila, hot sex. He was headed for a cliff but he didn't care and hoped the end would come quick. But then she got pregnant and he met responsibility, a thug who carried a bat that he would use if the young man ran. The music was there, full-frontal, and he turned to face it. Shit. He reigned in his impulses and did what he had to do. Mentors were hard to find. He had to read and write his way into the calm that would make the hard work possible. He had to scrape up the remains of his broken life with a broken and rusty tool, and work them into something that might give instead of take. It was a gauntlet. This will take a long time he said to no one in particular as he turned to the overwhelming work ahead. One piece at a time.

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