In the beginning was the word..They did not listen.. So they were cut off..
In that instance Wisdom arose… For it was the only remaining connection to the Word..
Walk like a prince they’ll treat you like a Prince .. They said..
Act like a king.. They’ll shame you until you crawl like a dog..
So I saunter with a limp.. Nothin like a pimp.. But more like a man wounded from war.. War with the world over my proper portrayal..
As both oppressor and oppressed alike.. I too adopted the incarnation of my victor..upon his perishing.. My repression blossomed.. That which was repressed became that which I loathed for so long.. I became the identity of my oppressor.. I am the identity of my oppressor..
As a dog.. I approach the world on bended knee.. As an American I know exactly the role to play..
So when I walk with a limp.. It may not be pride, it may not be a pimp, but it may be a certain self-hate that manifest as a particular self-consciousness.. My walk may not be absolute.. But despite it all I walk..
Not as a prince because they’ll treat me like one.. Built up only to be broken down.. Torn to pieces, broken psyche and all.. Shamed until I achieve my originally form..
Rather the form that was meant for me, as an American–