When The Roll Is Called Up Yonder Poem by Jim Boone

Lord, I don't want to be caught remiss on making
Apologies owed down here for things I did or
Did not do: Things spawned by my verbal bluntness
That grew out of shouting to be heard as a child, or
Forced to play-out my born-this-way sexuality in the
Far-too-early hands of abuse and on-my-own, in the
Shadows, behind closed doors, in the back, in the dark
And recklessly in many a center ring, all over this world.

The born-to family needs, from those who were never
There for me, reeled me in with a ‘Hey, bud' and that
Childhood mantra: ‘Because you're supposed to' hook.
God knows I did far more than the human me wanted
To, but the spiritual I Am always sees me through my
Self-made storms that are a bye-product of my (our)
Lack of understanding or wanting to upbringing for
A sassy, sissy boy who was always looking for ‘OZ'
And an awakening in the arms of I Am, you/we are
Brothers / sisters under the skin of reality.

In the meantime, a full-blown nervous breakdown
Chased me toward a healing on Galveston Island,
Across the bridge from Texas mainland mayhem that
Was brought on by dueling with the Fibbidlygibbits
Unwisely and unnecessarily. It's time o heal.

I have rejected many gifts of love because I saw
Acceptance as a choke-hold on my role as a freedom-
Fighter who only wanted to be in a loving relationship
But couldn't / wouldn't exit the role of the runner.
The solution to all of this is death, ah-naturale. So, in
The meantime, twixt adulthood 101 and the senior class
Blues: Chill, reflect, be what you can afford to be and
Do more than you think you can. My phobias have never
Been a big deal for me; even if I become a ‘rich people'
I could never, now, live like one. A philanthropist, yes.
2012