I am well aware of the mandate of authenticity in journalism I have tried to execute in integrity and transparency. ……but you, my faithful readers, know that upon occasion, I have to drop the elegance of metaphorical wordplay…..and just keep it 100.
Well this is one of those posts.
(I won’t be answering any questions or inquiries for details behind this inspiration)
So let’s drop the convertible top…turn up your favorite driving tunes and let’s poetically ride.
I must say that I am impressed.
Not by your choice of transportation or the character flaws you so readily confess…
I find a modern day Rapunzel, locked away, wearing the key around her neck
Dressed emotionally in the armor of Joan of Arc to keep the heart in check
Master of the illusion. Building an emotional Fort Knox one floor at a time…
Because the only thing more important than impenetrability….is that your escape trap door is easy to find.
Quick to roar like the fiercest of all predators when a threat is perceived
But looking past the snarl, the roar, the claws and the teeth….you’re quite easy to read…
That terrifies you. Petrified. Emotionally mummified. Until you have actually accepted the lie you’ve been repeating….
But the problem you keep having to address over and over again is that the heart you have convinced yourself doesn’t exist anymore…..
Fortified in the fortress of solitude….selling the newspaper headline that “my life is perfect just the way it is. Because of the lack of integrity in others in my past I have nothing to give.
More accurately it would be I have nothing I’m willing to risk. While you convincingly tell the world your heart is nothing that needs to be fixed.
Just wanted to inform you that the expansiveNess of your fortress; the intricate complexity of your castle walls…
The emotional WMDs you attempt to line every conversation with….every text message…..every note….every phone call
Is the prosecutions lead witness and is the most damning evidence to the guilt of your crime
Oh don’t glance for the dr. Evil escape pod. You won’t be making it to the escape trap door this time.
Yeah, I get it. You’re off balance because I’m walking over& defusing land mines, cutting down the barbed wire; drained the moat dry and relocated the crocodiles
Walked right through your castle walls like I built them
I know every weak spot…..
Every turn…..every booby trap…..you backing away searching for the trap door all the while.
Just stop. Stop. What has the mask you’ve been wearing done for you? Cmon, stop running. We both know you’ve found ways to handle the secrets and get through.
But none of its real. It’s all fake. The mask of having it all together. The mask of keeping it all above board.
In the confines of that comfy bed…you know you know…that I know…..and most of all the Lord.
You can’t stop me from getting all the way in….you already know this. And what confuses you is that I stopped at the door
An emotional jigsaw puzzle scattered everywhere because you’ve been treated nice but never as something more
I’m going to keep coming and somebody is going to fall
Are you going to take my hand or make me pin you to the wall?
If you make it to the trap door you build into every relationship it won’t matter
My transparency has nailed it shut and my integrity moved the escape ladder.
It’s about the finality of a sparkling, cushion cut solitare and the beginning of a life started with a beautiful stunning white dress
Because whether you know it or not…even with our
fears and flaws
you, my rib, to my side
A masterpiece by God’s own hand and nothing less
Don’t run. Don’t hide
You are my beautiful mess.
(Thank you guys for indulging me…)