You can not fake this, act as if this is not real. Lay down your words and let them tell the truth without the echo. You can not blog, speak out, without putting your own head on the chopping block. A naked world looking out from this clean soap box of truth.

I love the shit talker. The twister of words.

I enjoy the conflict zone. The throwing of fists just above my head.

Above all, I love the point where the wave can no longer push the shell or pull it back into the ocean.

I walk the high tide line at the point of equilibrium, collecting jingle shells.

These shells, my stories.

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