TIP TOEING ON THE EDGE
BY SHEB SCHEBELLA
Barefoot but not naked, standing on the edge; stretched out arms into what some only see as emptiness, or perhaps the undefined obis. What others may see makes no difference to me. They look into the eyes and see madness, a man tip toeing to close to the edge. Are these people afraid of living or afraid of how I live? Perhaps the answer is both; perhaps these people are jealous because they do not know how to squeeze water from a rock. Whatever these people think makes no difference to me. My life is my own, some may say I am reckless, some may call me a fool, some may love to love me but, will only be able to do so from afar, some will sip me by the thimble full and it will hold in their memory for a life time, while others will bath within me by the gallon until they get their fill; then they will slowly walk backwards tip toeing back from the edge and then and only then from a safe distance shall they watch me from afar, watch me with my arms stretched out, reaching for what they wish they could see. Blind love will be what I shall always wrap my arms around and I shall do so as it suits me.
Barefoot but not naked, standing on the edge; stretched out arms into what some only see as emptiness, or perhaps the undefined obis, wishing somewhere inside they could see what I see or perhaps even wanting for a moment to sit behind my eyes, but there will be others who wish to witness only madness, it makes no difference to me what they see.
Barefoot but not naked, standing on the edge with stretched out arms guided only by blind love.
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