A Gentleman

My smile means business. A kind, tense aggression, encouraging forgiveness. People claim they "only fear gods wrath", but if you force mine, palms grip your life tighter than a tired cramped hand holding a bible, damage deadly as white silence.

Raised by free men, who never left prison behind, my decisions were grave, depending on which women or friend you ask. But I remain, still a root holding life. Running since childbirth, an addict before I could form habits. Before inhaling demons that fogged inhibitions.

With a junkies loyalty, I watch my children grow, understanding less than me at their tender age, and how impressions fix you backwards. But they know which smoke to avoid. And they know love, thankfully not of shedding it through blood, or the unblemished concealer-distance- should never be the healer.

My children never fought anyone except me, each other and themselves. I mostly stay, out of those battles, because they need to help themselves outlast the war.

I do however, kiss, hold hands and hug. Showing grown man affection. Careful to explain how people, fools and cowards mistake tenderness as attraction, a purpose keeping us separated.