I am a butterfly

My experience of two Saturn returns,
has taught me the value of gratitude.
It has taught me in impatient ways,
and long passing difficult trails,
in wonderment and creative adventuring,
I have always striven to be me honestly.
I was used by Divinity, wave length DNA,
to open a gate for two new bright minded humans,
their Saturn return Honoring and proof of my endurance.

What questions have I come unto thee,
but of what service to you I might be,
not one of Ventura’s serfs, a free person me,
tolerant, patient, and kind. Unflinching,
unconditional in my Love,
I’ve been condemned
for neither being a hawk or a dove.
If I wore funny ears and a big red nose,
or a flannel shirt and dirty denim jeans,
would it shake up your dream?

You can tighten their anal sphincters,
if you paint your toenails; hot pink.

Free, and free to be, responsible I know,
prepare your children well the music kelled,
bombers spawn and became bombers,
what happened to the butterflies,
what happened to the bombers,
turning into butterflies? I am a free person,
I am a butterfly. Queer, here, rattling, and beating,
Lather was thirty years old, some think me their Shaman,
they took away all of his toys, it was his Saturn return,
he went to work for a paper shuffling firm;
the cost of the toys of men and boys.
Tender womanly dreams; I am a free PERSON.
50% cuddly apple pie; 50% tighten your seat belts,
we might just die

Satyr people am I, like a Yoda from the sky,
you should be so blessed,
Satyrs all the people of Pan,
Dionysus who vibrated between woman and man,
Aphrodite masculine ruse,
for Hermes intoxicated penis abused.
Aphrodite and Ares the naked shameful couple.
Grandmother of my children,
who namesaked me Robin, Alban’s Pan,
sacrificed at the cross roads, snatched from my youth,
before my one only First Saturn return.
Mother insisted I am a free person.
Great Grandfathers of my children,
walked out of the Vermont and Adirondack woods.
Free persons all, ahead of the wave.
My ancestors to be grateful for today.
You can tighten their anal sphincters,
if you paint your toenails; hot pink.
I hold the hands of the wackos,
am teaching a few eager to learn,
My children a free persons,
journeying on Destiny’s berm,
Satyr people are an enigma,
that is for gosh golly sure,
but what if you were a tweaked a bit off center,
would you want equal respect?
would you want equal responsibility,
or are you one of the serfs?
By United Fight Club,
humanity must never be defined,
mindless brutal dogs of dilapidated DNA devolution.
Excelsior my ancestors taught,
a Spiritual climb, not a profit motive world assault;
can’t I dance a butterfly song?
Americans, Irish, Welsh, and Alban, I was told,
when I was wondering about four years old,
and many years on, by a mother insistent,
that I was a free Person, with wonders to be.

No harm to you have I done,
not my children, my ancestors,
nor my friends or partners in vice,
forty eight years since my last confession,
harms not thee nor me by being free,
better an answer you don’t understand me,
I haven’t wasted much time,
to get that to happen you see,
for my biggest job is understanding thee.
My happiness is my own accord,
of the Castle of Spirit I am the Ward.
And that is the way I believe,
Akenhaten’s God meant it to be.

You can tighten their anal sphincters,
if you paint your toenails; hot pink.

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This entry was posted in employments rights, feminism, gay rights, gender, gender bender, gratitude, hot pink nail polish, kundalini energy, Neo Pan, transgender. Bookmark the permalink.

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