this is my soul, right down here on my sleeve. from time to time, I feel like I could be a beast. and if my soul could crawl from my chest and die between breath–what would govern me? except for my instincts? what are these things that make me a human being? so drive me down to the dirt and ground, but I will not be a beast. from the dust I come and to the dust I return, but my divine breath you shall not reap. a seed is sown in the bloody grove but bleeding and biting: I will not be a beast. one million years to say, “I exist”, but the rhyme and poetry of life sing over me, “you shall not be a beast.”
