There I was just standing, talking and congregating with my sisters' and savoring the taste of freedom...
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Joy and peace, all rapped up in a white paper bag filled with sweet, sweet cookies. Oatmeal rasin, butter and sugar ones...
Looking and pointing outward- at the looking glass me, them, us, we.
Seeing the beast the ghost the host inside the pain. In the last ride of the white stallion, the rough rider, harshly showed up inside her and out into the looking glass...
The slow blow of smoke, the silent joke told by passersby and deep down inside my soul I cried of memories not long passed from this look I got, looking into the looking glass.
Like plums to raisins, raisins in the sun, dried up and undone, unnatural made into a spectacle underneath a microscope... Standing, walking and running miserably side ways for one more bag of hope lost inside a bag of dope...
All of this I seen, sight and words unspoken on this mystery I was chokin`, coughing up thanks joy and tears putting behind me all my fears that I'd seen briefly summing up what use to be me, use to be me, use to be me...
On the other side of the looking glass.