This is only rehearsal and not a reckoning either but it’s just a clash of timing, breath and bodies that get in the way, in the ring things happen quick with no time to pause and even look surprised This is only rehearsal and not a reckoning either but it’s just a clash of timing, a glove might graze your cheek or even slam you straight between the eyes and now it tightens your stance This is only rehearsal and not a reckoning either but it’s just a clash of timing, but you don’t cry foul or freeze or call it out as something that doesn’t adjust your rhythm because that is training This is only rehearsal and not a reckoning either but it’s just a clash of timing, you know the rules, the tempo, the unspoken pact you’re meant to keep not just a battle where your worth is on display…

No one has ever been harmed by the truth if you only offer me the reality, I know you do not hurt me, but instead you help me stand straighter than I did before there is no need to shame No one has ever been harmed by the truth if you only offer me the reality, truth is not a blade nor a wound but it is the salve that heals the confusion we carry in silence No one has ever been harmed by the truth if you only offer me the reality, let no one fear correction for the truth does not punish but instead it frees even when it unsettles No one has ever been harmed by the truth if you only offer me the reality, I know you do not hurt me, those who suffer from truth are only those who chose comfort over clarity and even illusion over honesty…

You stop performing the myth so blindly every time when you laugh you don’t kill the joy, they told you it’s beautiful and mystical by god in fire and light like the eternal thrill You stop performing the myth so blindly every time when you laugh you don’t kill the joy, but they forgot the part where it’s awkward, funny, clumsy and strange You stop performing the myth so blindly every time when you laugh you don’t kill the joy, we crown it holy then hide it behind curtains like something shameful You stop performing the myth so blindly every time when you laugh you don’t kill the joy, why do we regret it, li about it chase it like junkies chasing ghosts…

But the body is never truly ours only left in our hands for a while, you walk through the world inside a vessel made of skin of bones or slow-decaying matter But the body is never truly ours only left in our hands for a while, it’s shaped by genes by time, by chance, by all the things that happen without your say But the body is never truly ours only left in our hands for a while, it gets tired as it breaks, as it heals when it can and hurts even when you’re not sure why But the body is never truly ours only left in our hands for a while, and yet every morning you rise inside it while knowing it’s what carries you each day…

Look inward before outward as we often fear stillness it grows our first power, we look each morning in the same skin yet seldom pause to ask what stirs beneath Look inward before outward as we often fear stillness it grows our first power, we rise with routine swept by noise unaware of silence that holds the deepest truths Look inward before outward as we often fear stillness it grows our first power, but buried under impulse and distraction lies a voice that waits to heard Look inward before outward as we often fear stillness it grows our first power, a steady subtle question echoing, “What am I,an and what am I becoming?”….

And from the moment of letting go, your footing will not be easily found again, it always begins so quietly like a soft breeze brushing past your cheek like a just momentary pause in thought And from the moment of letting go, your footing will not be easily found again, glance away a daydream mild and meek that there’s no thunder, no alarm, no voice And from the moment of letting go, your footing will not be easily found again, to warn that something’s been undone yet something changes when your focus wanders even if only for fun And from the moment of letting go, your footing will not be easily found again, it is not a collapse but a crumbling nor a shout but a whisper that pulls like a shift of the eyes like a curious thought from a subtle fog the gently dulls…