SOmetimes I feel foul…

Sometimes I feel foul,
I feel like closing myself down,
Turning the dan tap OFF to all but those whose idea of Respect is a mirror of my own.
Because by allowing others to turn my tap,
Brings nothing but anguish,
And the suggestion that I am too open, to too many…

Maybe my Self would be better served by being quiet,
By slinking out of the limelight,
Into the shadows,
Where I can dwell without intensity,
But also,
Without ugly drama.

Im not looking for the tranquility of a tree,
I am the eye of a storm,
The deafening aural rhythm of a million Spartans marching,
It is where my spirit takes me,
It is what my spirit creates,
It is where I belong.

But to accompany this war cry of vitality,
Comes,
A heart which acts like its never been hurt,
Like its not learned a damned thing,
About people,
About life.
About pain.

That is my problem.
That is my cross to bear.

I’m che Guevara in mind,
Bambi in heart.

So where do I go***
With whom,
Is it safe to share
All that I am,
All that I crave,
All that I bear***

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