I am well-hung!

Yes, I let it all hang out. I have a choice not to. I make the choice to do so. It has probably always been like that. Even as a child when we would sit on a neighbour’s scooter and it would topple (with six of us it had to), the others would run away. I would stand there, doing nothing…and uncle would come out and ask, “Who has done this?” And I would say, “I.”

Was it brave? Honest? I don’t know. I just did not want to run away. Perhaps I am lazy. It could be that I like to see the result of how things fall and are picked up.

So, yes, I let it all hang out in my writings. I write about what may be of absolutely no interest to anyone. It probably holds no interest to me beyond a point. Yet, I bare it. Am I drawing attention? Am I asking you to follow my trail? Do I want you to be a part of me?

Why is it that those of us who say it as it comes to us are seen as wayward and wanton whereas I know of many who do things but cannot express or will not? Am I the greater sinner? What is sin?

Sin is when you walk into forbidden territory and pee on it to claim it as your own. I make no claims. I have nothing. I want little. If I don’t get it, I leave…I even wipe the stains of my footprints. Were there any footprints? Did I really walk? Oh no. I wouldn’t have done something so plebeian. I must have been swept off my feet…and there I hang mid-air, flying, prepared for the earth…but before that I invite the noose. I choke, just as much as I want to. When the tears form little clouds, I touch the sky with my fingers and a chain of stars encircles me.

You cannot hang me. I am already well-hung…