Really feeling Iron Jaw on this one. I keep a shoe-free
household as much as possible, so we got a shelf at the door to put them bamas
there. Feeling shook today about my location and position in life, and see them
scuffed and dented steel toe Timbs there, and contemplate the disappearance.
But also, ain’t nobody in my house but myself (and my kids half the time),
nobody to escape from, building sanctuary slowly but surely, so it ain’t like
ol’ Iron Jaw’s situation necessarily. Always trying to remember to ask myself am
I removing myself from a bad situation, or running from handling shit? People
can’t handle the hard work of being alive, so plenty of folks just run from
handling hard shit, doing the hard work to fix the fucked up shit that life has
dealt them. And sometime (a lot of times) ain’t no fixing it, but you still
gotta put in the work to make it tolerable or better. And then again, sometimes
it’s fucked, so you slip on your boots, pack a bag, and be gone. I hope if your
life is fucked though, you’re making some sick art to help heal you through the
moments, so long as it heals and not heels. Never heel to no shitty ass person
making your life miserable.
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