Seattle Diary Entry #1

And this was the beginning
I sat with myself, looking at myself, becoming mine
One whole cycle of washing, filtering, taking in again
And they still couldn’t get it
I guess I had lost em but at least I went high and low and found me
High and low, Black and white, cold and hot, sea and stone
Is this what they meant
Or were they meaning to say nothing at all
I’d love to think they knew but it turns out we love to think we know
But we are nothing but the left overs of resistance that they couldn’t throw together and eat for dinner
We are nothing but the back bones of the many and the memories of those who were the giants but grew old and laid on their side and turned ‘to mountains
I am nothing but her with 3 heads, 2 legs, and 5 things to say
We were philosophers and dreamers in my last book
and in this book
We are scared
We swam down the streams and hummed up a tune
And all we turned into was the shadow of ourselves who followed us
All we turned into was all we ever were
Children
Born unafraid
And raised to be scared of any new color who sang a new song or soul who walked to a new drum.