Born to Be Bad
Looking back, within and around the curve
One’s definition of bad might reflect the teenage years needing more power or excitement screaming crotch-rockets, bullied and taunted by others — tempted by mischievousness and adolescence, not giving a shit. Learning to walk — baby-steps, to running from the cops, like monkeys — climbing every telephone pole we possibly could.
Drag racing-redlining
burying the needle — full throttles
to jumping in the cockpit
of an abandoned dump truck
joy ride down the excavated road.
Sneaking out in the darkest of nights
meeting up at appointed spots
to breaking in the local church
merely to play a few games of hoops.
Time to grow up, they say
settle down
tie the knot and have a couple of littles.
Work hard-play later
never comes and bones raw-blood dripping back to earth.
It is time — this world is gone — turning the page.
Inward journey — self-reflecting time of necessary extinguishing flames of the burnt up candle of both ends, unable to keep the pace. Three-year-old little pleading for daddy to return home — to a place of eternal happiness and peace, something had to give.
Self-evaluation — taking stock
market crashing all-around
the globe tearing itself apart
whilst inner heart song calling
to self — foreign tongue
not yet translated frequencies of such.
Sitting with the pain of old
days numbered — painting
in and out of the boundary waters
cleansing steps kissing the ground.
Calling the bluff of a Master Artist
not seen by mortals — morsels
of truth, accepted the challenge.
Pain too great — weighted down
sloth-like movement
feverishly dwelling of lack has gone.
Deeper understanding — one cannot change the next
but their own.
It is time — this world is gone — turning the page.
Lacing up with atrocious blackened leather— ten eyelets screaming fuck off — yet born of yin and yang, energetic beings are we.Contemplating the meaning of true self — bad whilst remaining true to heart songs vibratory message cleansing the ground we walk upon.
The five, four, three, two, one of it — still to be determined, next chapter — stanzas written in the starry skies, translating, transmuting, simultaneously interacting with all there is. Henceforth walking in the winds of time itself, breathing life into the cosmos, co-mingling interactions in and out of realities — forever bad to the bone.
~Ani Po
How does one define bad, contemplating the places I have been before? J.D. Harms asks us to write about being bad, but I have already done the extreme. Looking back, self-reflecting, seeing what lay ahead — a new definition of bad presents itself. Bad to the bone — remaining kind in an unkind world, filtering out words and morsels that no longer feed my soul.
Thank you Jesse and the whole Scrittura family for this Saturday morning prompt.
Here is another reply, worthy of your attention, thank you Dana Sanford for this gem.
