BB Grey–musings

“Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes.”

— Walt Whitman

I’ve Stood Soft

I’ve stood soft against a hard rain,
cold and wet clinging unrelenting
to detached thoughts,
iron-hot in vain.

I’ve stared into a gray sun,
choked on burnt exhaust,
inhaled cigarettes with disgust—
yet still, I breathe.

I’ve turned away from a crying babe,
awake in homelessness,
while making a left from the right—
in a black Benz, shallow bliss.

I write to right
the things I’ve given up to fight,
sip Macallan M
through a plastic straw,
waiting to be outdrawn
by a hooligan.

And tell the tale—
that it was a perfect life,
weeping empty, frail,
cutting deep like a lover’s knife.

Upload posts for hearts and likes,
validated by similar types,
as day turns night,
obscuring sight—

but I’ve stood soft,
against the hard rain,
and I remain.