Love is a defense mechanism of a world learning to stand on it’s feet,
arm yourself in connection or the ghosts will be too loud,
arm yourselves in cock and glorious pussy.
Love is a defense woman, a pussy her wallet,
a dick, the golden seed.
Women took the money for the greatest need on Earth,
because money is power. Or it was.
Where there is a need, there is the salvation.
I want to grow mushrooms and he came.
I need to be fed and I’m fed.
I’ve wandered so far from you mom,
I feel like I’m lost. Should I keep going?
I am still tied to your umbilical cord,
because I can never let go.
I can never let go.
I see you just over my right shoulder,
and up above. I am attached to your umbilical cord,
but Bob, he looked over to say,
you have the wrong name,
you have the wrong parents.
And the wild women, scramble and
shout blood dripping out of their mouths,
you were begging to be born,
what did you think would happen?
I’m only as dead as I am alone.
And that’s all the way sometimes, at the same time.
Until She picks me up again.
And I wonder if I’ll still be here tomorrow,
and I learn how to communicate to her,
I beg her to show me herself,
I am her tiny moth and she is my lightbulb.
Am I ever here? Was I meant to be here?
Just because I am here, and it seems everybody thinks
I’m supposed to be happy. So I must be wrong, right?
You say affirmation bias, but what about
when I’ve never heard of an idea before, and it keeps coming to me,
and I didn’t know?
I have to trust that the universe is my mother,
just as my much as i trust
my mother is my mother,
or else I’m free-falling into oblivion,
with no sense of safety.
Is this what freedom has always been?