This is

a special kind of cowardice. Or maybe there's no such thing. But I'm afraid of the idea that I might be afraid, and I run away from the decisions that I'm forced to make. For the sake of myself I might shelf those fears but I hold them too dear to my heart, and so I start placing my feet backward on the asphalt, until my body follows behind. The lines depicted on the pavement are not merely reflected onto my craven eyeballs, but placed to box in my mind and therefore my body can't pass them. I won't last longer than the mast of a ship in a hurricane, but the one to blame is myself, I just can't seem to get my lower brain to accept the realities that my higher one reognizes all too well. It's a hard sell but it's got to be done and the sun rises black in the sky as the stars outshine the moonlight in your eyes but the time to be metaphoric has passed. It's time for action to follow the words that I've said and not the kind that involves sneakers or the wind, but the kind that shows me triumphing over the my insecurities my living worries my tallest flurries my smallest purities. 

My one last inch of my self will not be mutable but neither will it be inscrutable. 

Crowd pleasing is not easy

unless

your name

is

Weezy.