The Man With The Pocket Knife Shave and The Paradox Heart

Carhart jacket, noticable but unspoken, receding hariline, hunters camo, cigar smoke rings flirting with the soft grey smoke from the fire. The man with the pocket knife shave and the paradox heart. To love ones own so deep, yet hate those who you do not understand, intellegent man, wise, with years you have not yet lived but, ignorant as a new babe, the man with the pocket knife shave and the paradox heart. "Do you love me?", "Of course I do", he says pulling me in to whisper, "You are my favorite niece", our joke, your laugh, the light shining proudly in those eyes, my man with the pocket knife shave and the paradox heart. Insults to others striking my ears, stinging with hurtful passion, those differences he clearly ellaborates, naïve brain not understanding, the volotile melee of phrases, a warning is shouted and returned is, my man with the pocket knife shave and the paradox heart. I grew to understand, those words that you use, now knowing, knawing at my being the deity, The idol I adored, spewing hateful vomit towards "Them" Those not like us, not like the man with the pocket knife shvae and the paradox heart. The question devouring my heart, Forever changed that component of my soul, Snapping in conflicting rage, "What if I was different?", Simple answer with volcanic disgrandure, "Then I would not love you" Why man withthe pocket knife shave, screw your paradox heart. Screeching irony surrounds, Your plauged brains confusion, Life lessons not forgotten, from the idolization, To striving to be your opposite, no longer my man with the pocket knife shave, damned with that paradox heart.