Colleen House Poems

For some it's a permanent station in life.Perched atop the soapbox, like a vulture, waiting to voice unsolicited opinions. Providing two cents so freely as if they have so much to spare. Attempting to mow down the self-worth and self-esteem of others in the process. Soapboxers disguised as something else, a continual smile all the while
plotting the issue & method of attack.

Hidden soapboxer, they carry theirs around, even stand on it, but all the while whispering ideas, opinions, and protests of injustice. Hidden soapboxer never say a word, or even worse who they tell posses no power to change anything that really matters.
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Mind: Here we go again! Over and over I’ve tried to talk you out of longing for your desires. This right here is a good place. You love him he loves you back. Why are you trippin?
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Trapped inside my own head this conflict rages on, it's not even a question of what's right or what's wrong. The battle begins each time I pick up this pen and my rhythm starts to flow. See, my mind says 'just write what you feel' but my heart speaks out ' oh no you need to write what's real'

For me there's a choice to be made believe it or not each time I open my mouth and I stand in this spot. Whatever comes up comes out it seems like that just won't do, like I need to fade to the back and the Him shine through.
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