there’s stealing, the shape of an echo, the mimic of a stance, the yearning to ascend, transcend, that’s pleasing, amiable, soft on the eye because it’s a certain kind of nostalgia, an homage built out of respect and love that serves as a springboard for something different.
then there’s outright thievery, the stabbing in the dark, the punch in the face while the other hand tears away the chain, the foot on the neck as two hands yank out the solitary gold tooth, a mean, vicious taking that screams in your face, nothing can ever be yours.
all things i took i tried to give back somewhere else, someone else, at any given point in time. everything taken from me was always blindsided and in the dark.