XVII

There is something so glamorous about prophesying your own story.
Something so unequivocally thrilling as to,
Make your own God hat, wear it around.

There are things so alluring about making grand proclamations,
Loudly justifying exquisitely screwed-up life decisions;
It's easy to follow sheep.

Where did the Shepherd go?

Oh hell, I don't know...but I'll just follow the rest of this white wool...

There are moments that nudge me toward buying the manual,
Giddy, gloriously feminine,
Blissfully labeled, skillfully maneuvering
my every motion for the taking,
Drifting with the tide.

There are reasons for echoing words delusional,
Paper-mache, congregation-manipulated illusion,
Beautiful but fake.

If I expected this culturally whitewashed
Buddy-system brainwashed
One way sign
To lead me

If I was fine all the time
Lived minus fine lines
Black and white, "God is good!"
Inauthentic trying times

I wouldn't Believe,
Couldn't imagine dreaming outside the box,
Pulling my ears out of the clouds.

Make my own God hat, wear it around.