Oftentimes people don’t ask themselves what their purpose in someone else’s life is. My purpose being more light work related than yours sometimes. I still come and leave in as much peace as possible. Never to return to what didn’t inspire me before. I never had to ask myself who a best friend was or what it entailed. It didn’t entail vengeance for me. But for some, of course it would. And whatever it picked up along the way that had the same unfamiliar uncomfortable qualities was a lost cause to it’s succubus energy. I had not paid attention to the eye rolls in public while I was writing. The female friends who had so willingly gone after men that I had adorned once, thinking I would suddenly want them back. Not realizing that even the smallest parts of me was not willing to circumference their insecurities about my craft enough to bow to them before I bow to God and pray for them. That being the ultimate truth. You need prayer and my absence from your life. In remembrance we can coexist until you feel it necessary that I am one of the people you desire to be completely honest with. Suffering is a choice. Your choice to make someone else suffer by hating their way of creatively expressing themselves, in turn makes you and others around you suffer. My inspiration to write does not come from the suffering of others. That’s the difference.

Crazy to see the audacity.

To disrespect your desire.

To have involvement.

In your child’s life unaffected.

And not want one part of intimacy.

With anyone else.

Until you have wholesome attributes.

Of peace.

Because of that very ability.

To turn and flip angles.

Disturbs the very peace you seek.

To have.

It’s that fear.

Of letting guards down.