Fame is a goal
It is a legacy
It's a dream
Important to me

Standing in lights
Can blur reality
You're not yourself
But what others see

So if fame costs me
Who I am at heart
If that's the endgame
I don't want to start

I want to be known
I dream of the spotlight
But I'd throw it all away
To keep who I am tonight

If it destroys my spirit
Turns me into some entity
I'd burn fame to the ground
If it meant keeping my Identity

I always loved to be free,
Not to be chained by my thoughts and words.
But with this, some problems arise,
I'm inconsistent with my does and likes.
I can't build something 'cause I feel the need to change,
Boredom takes control of me.
I try to grasp my feelings,
But my passion slowly dies.
And I am left there with only failures in my arms,
Wondering,
Is this who I am?
A fire that shines bright for a month,
And after that, I need another compound?
Or I just lack discipline in my life?

courtesy latitudinarian, nonestablishmentarian,
sexagenarian, and Unitarian son
and modest mastermind maven maverick.

Another anniversary of her death occurs
upon advent of
May fourth two thousand and five,
not quite seventy years since her birth
November thirteenth nineteen thirty five,
nor fifty years
a married bride at age nineteen,
cuz back in dem days,
an unmarried woman
at twenty five would be
written off as a spinster.

Behind concrete walls,
entombed by damp wood and mold,
even though he loved her more,
than any master should.

He gauged her eyes one at a time,
replacing them with glass beads,
while she writhed in pain.
An unwilling compromise.

Stitched up lips, needle and thread.
His secret kept, as she silently wept,
Blood soaked tears ran down her face,
how she wished she was dead.

Mounting her head on a stick,
he fixed her hair with a sigh.
Such a shame how she bled.
As he dragged her lifeless torso to bed.