The Longing

I wrote you, my family, and it comes to the end of my ramblings. Sure, I will continue to write. I thank you for taking your time; I hope it interested you. The Longing was just my journal. I didn’t know Satan put a hit on me and God get it on me to share with the world. My honor as a common man is to stay on track and write appropriately. I have been praised and offended others on the subject. The reason I’m shy about what I have shared is I was feeling like I sounded like a broken record, but my Indian name is Broken Pencil. I have, when I was younger, written inappropriately and hope and pray they stay lost and burned. I’m very ashamed of my potty mouth as I feel words on paper are greater than words spoken. I am shy as I look in the mirror with my poet’s honor. My dream as I look, to be a master not to be a deaf, blind and mute. We all are, as I am, in a prison needing to be a god of war to realize the longing of myself. Love is everywhere even on the shelf. I love you, and everyone loves everybody else.