the past two years,
it's been difficult to gather my thoughts, let alone organize them.
i used to be much more opinionated.
i used to fight, tooth and nail, over ridiculous subjects that mattered little.
i used to cross lines, rigid and defined,
and risk everything as if there was nothing left in the world.
i used to want to turn people over and
twist their perspectives to my will.
but as i grow older, i find that my false sense of destiny,
and my invisible grip on the world,
has let up a great deal.
because all the things i once held so dire,
just don't seem as pressing anymore.
and so my intense, fiery passion has settled
into a quiet reflection.
a whisper in the air conditioning.
i'm not sure what it all means.
perhaps it's maturity?
or maybe it's just another callus
from the impacts of a wrecking ball that has yet to stop swinging?
whatever it is,
i can't wait until i can sing about it all,
with the solid force of age and experience behind every word,
and a shimmer of death in the eye.