I couldn't fairly call it a slave name if I took it back, wrested from the hands.of the carrot holders and used to batter fear into the cattle prodders. It was born into me and I kept it out of spite, in memory of who put me on these two feet, here, now, carving a niche into the cold marble world or medicated indifference.

Today I dreambt of others better wasted, none as softly earned as mine today. With no guilt nor shame, I shake the hand of my creator, eye to eye; I leave no worship for this proud builder of builders in the tithing jar. 
This is a cautious, knowing gratitude, measured in a stack of shoe soles to remind me what I owe god for mine.

Truly, I must be an indignant child with nothing to lose, stripped to the red hot bare bones of humanity named sex and violence.