Through your soul

It is harder to refuse 
the self, 
that quiet voice 
whispering, hey no. 
 
When the knowing arrives, 
it settles in, a dust mote 
in the sunbeam, 
and saying no 
becomes a complex knot. 
 
I try to frame it 
in another term, 
a gentle word 
to soften the edges of this trial. 
 
For the self, this oil 
of being, this unction, 
it needs no tin can 
to hold its shimmer. 
 
It is already here, 
within the hollows of the breastbone. 
 
How can I say, know once 
that it is no, 
when the truth is already wearing 
my own skin? 
 
This feeling, 
this deep inner shift, 
I say I hate this 
because it demands a turning, 
a path less worn. 
 
But the trying, 
the honest reaching out 
to what feels untrue, 
that is the real burden. 
 
To look another in the eye, 
and offer a polished, 
well-rehearsed untruth, 
when the spirit inside 
is already shouting, yes. 
 
It is a peculiar kind of struggle, 
this internal wrestling match, 
where the opponent 
wears the same face 
as the desired victor. 
 
To be so close 
to the source, 
to feel the warmth 
of authentic living, 
and yet, to pause, 
to build a small wall 
of polite deflection. 
 
I examine the words I use, 
each syllable weighed 
as if it were a heavy stone, 
searching for the one 
that won't crack the surface. 
 
But the surface is already thin, 
worn translucent by constant use. 
 
This heart, 
it doesn't need external props, 
no shining armor, 
no borrowed strength. 
It simply needs 
the quiet permission 
to be what it has already become. 
 
To say no to the expected narrative, 
that is the hardest refusal. 
It asks for a kind of nakedness, 
a standing in the breeze 
without apology for one's shape. 
 
And so I stand, 
feeling the resistance melt, 
the tin can forgotten, 
the oil spreading freely. 
It is easier, finally, 
to just let the knowing shine through, 
a simple, unadorned hey. 
No more trying to confuse the light.

rap, blues, soul trap