Authenticating

To be real,

To avoid the temptation to pretend,

To be the someone you are not,

To become the master of your purpose.

No…

For the honest of heart,

Where zero measure of vituperation is common,

One can still be thrown from one’s bridle cinch

Into an ethereal realm of mistakes,

Remorse,

And retribution,

If one ventures outside one’s verity.

To know where the line is

And not cross it,

Is to understand consequences,

And the obligation to share such understanding

With the less informed.

To feel worth something,

Is to know such self-evaluation.

Came from a giving heart,

Or hearts,

Or a mass of consciousness

That never found it difficult

To express the needs of the heart’s

Natural essence.

When will society accept

Their complicity in the vile

Disavowing of realness,

Of honesty,

Of integral behavior?

Are you listening

Demagogues of political ambition,

Of dictatorship,

Of insistence on absolute loyalty

By those in the inner circle of slaves,

Ruling the environment,

And sacredness of the less fortunate

Who have earned the right to

Just

Be

Who they know

They are.

Yes…

Some of us own our wheelhouse and remain genuine,

While others bow to the fog-shrouded

Warning beam of the search for

Any vulnerable weakness.

No…

Simply said…

There is no authentication for gas station Sushi.