[A Million More Strokes] a poem

  It worries me that satisfaction may never find me,
that contention is as good as what will become

-after 31 years, a million words are behind me;
I feel no accomplishment, only a vague hope for a million more, that perhaps, somewhere along my path to that additional million, something inside me will suffice to keep on existing
and all that will be left is this subterranean man
and the shell he inhabits

-it is all human to be labeled something unkind all your life
and to one day begin believing it applies to your identity-

but the alternative; 

to live outside of that label
is the great challenge of a man sunken
during sea fare to self perpetually
someday again, I will learn to swim again,

and those levees that have been placed will not give into the tides so easily given life again, I will struggle till the last ounce of inertia, so even in death, I can carry integrity with me

Dontrell Lovet't

from, [Labial Laughs]