Today I bend but do not break, like the palms that bend in the wind of the hurricane I bend with the roots of self respect tenuously anchoring my convictions in the sand.
Today I bend even as the rushing waters of time and phantom responsibility try to overtake me, my belief in the ability of the individual to see through the artificial excrement created by few, anchors against the flood.
I know I will not break and sit secure as the third little piggy in the brick house of my will withstanding the huffs and puffs of the big bad wolves of society ever wanting to come inside and eat me up, as other piggies in houses of straw and stick become the entrees of the world.
And in the event that the mortar that holds the brick house of my will and convictions ever fails in the face of ever increasing pressure of the huffing and puffing of longworded windbags and self absorbed third holes...
...the piggy inside this house is packing heat.
