I believe I’ve turned the first page for the last time,
it’s never easy,
like ripping yourself apart,
layer by layer,
shedding the tears where no one can see,
what I promised I wouldn’t do,
what’s wrong with honesty?
is it too bold a flavor?
or asinine in its expression?
maybe this me isn’t what the audience wants,
grates their nerves in indescribable ways,
but I realize that it isn’t about them,
it is about me…
I’ve stopped handing over the keys,
maliciousness is served with kindness,
my tolerance appears endless,
but I recycle the anger,
huff the Rager’s fumes and use them for fuel,
motive to take the next dive,
as the time arrives,
I jump aboard the caboose,
of a runaway train,
using the words,
I treasure now.