Song said, “take time with a wounded hand”… Truth is, it’s not all about appearances… Its not… It can’t be. Ted Bundy was said to be a charmer. Clean cut and educated. Btk worked in a church. They both silently butchered people. But Some of the roughest people I’ve encountered ended up having hearts of gold tho when it came down to it. Me??? I reach out at times… Try and help who I can… Damn, I get used. I get my intentions misunderstood. I get rejected…a lot. I get envious of others easily. Not over money and materialistic bs but by how they seem so comfortable in thier own skin. I’m not. People say forgive urself and move on. That’s where I’m stumped tho… The one who was capable of doing all those things that made up my disfunctional life is still in me…Always. Do u forgive an active devil intent on messing up the house ur constantly trying to clean?. A pesterer of ur mind and soul who gives u no true rest? I don’t know if I’m good… Or really bad like my past would tell u I am. I don’t have a clue as to who I am, where I’m headed or if it really even matters. All I can say is I’ve chosen a road that’s so far kept me from giving up on this world and swinging from the neck in some dark lonely basement somewhere. This Is what I’ve been given to save me… It’s all uphill too. Staying sober when I just want to light up and escape myself. Giving large quanties of hard earned money to strangers with less than I have for food or clothes. Letting people abuse me and lie to me without giving them what I really feel. Praying 5 times a day to a God who’s name causes people to cringe in patriotic and religious digust… I’m not u… Ur ways I’ve tried, and I’m telling u, they benefited me nothing. I couldn’t connect. But May we all be guided through our own life’s mazes to peaceful and meaningful ends. I don’t hate those who hate me… Well…I try and fight not to. I haven’t seen my own son for months over a damn lie. The best of me ever given and it’s source was turned against me. Muslim extremist the courts viewed me as. Because I argued I wanted my son praying to no other one but his maker. So what if I call my Lord by a foreign name! Was ur Lord born in bemidji!! No he was a Hebrew… Something foreign too. Man,…this Petty world…my pettiness, thier pettiness…all of our “I’m right all the time” pettiness. God help the world. Peace. Pack Redfeather

Published by Pack Redfeather

I am a walking contradiction of traditions some say. An African American and Native American Muslim poet with a personal life history as violently turbulent as a Storm. A visionary from the bottom of life’s social barrel striving to share the hope found in the light of faith through sometimes dark but real poetry. I’m a former member of the Bloods street gang, former serial bank robber, and both federal/state prison convict. I live on my mother’s tribal reservation of the Leech Lake band of Ojibwe in Minnesota.

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