So, here I am filleted open, naked and on display for you to see, why? Why not? Theres nothing to hide this is just me real and raw as it may seem. Why disguise, why lie....one lie leads to another and before you know it even you are unsure of what the truth is....So, Ima take up my cross, sweep up the cowering pup into my arms and walk down the mountain where freedom is waiting. Ima take that belt off my back and hang it in a glassless frame for all the women and children of the world to come and feel the scars torn in it. I haven't come this far to breeze in and out of your life like a subtle wind. Ima move you like a turbulent ocean. To wear my interior scars on the outside would make your eyes dart away from me. A site too hideous to bear. The passion of life inside me once fed on lust now famished on what Ive bred. Lay aside your flesh as I have no intrest in any but what is half my own. They begin to throw up their hoops and dangle their carrots and sit back to enjoy the show. Massa is my tap dancing fast enough for you now? One more hurdle and they say Im gaining in the race far past the others but still Im just a face in the masses. Reduced to a number on a piece of paper....is this what has become of me? Wide eyed, lax brow and slack jaw that of my loins gaze at me. As much as I want to be a one woman army, it truely does take a village. Ima step on their backs and over the crack and use those hoops and carrots as stepping stones to my destination. Judge me not for the past few years unless you've known me from birth. All that I am today was created with time, much time even from the day I was born. My stigmata will always show in one way or another but will not mark me as a statistic. I will wear it proudly and bear it long enough to show it to others but not look at myself long enough in the mirror for it to overcome me. I will own my scars and wear them instead of them wearing me. Reuniting these three souls-me, my cross and my pup. Without these things I am nothing and I am nothing without these three. A celebration is on the threshold. Trumpets and voices ready yourselves. A historic reunion is in the making. Each of these precious we three babes.