Mr. Jack

Helllllllllloooooo ladies!

They call me Mr. Jack.  You see, because the normal dudes that you talk to all live in the same box… Get down with that?  I can’t.  In fact, I think its pretty wack that most gals claim to want a new tapestry, but they only examine pieces cut from that same old fabric, which leaves their love life fully stretched out in the casket… And I used to breathe life into these dummies, for their amusement, but it always broke down, like construction on Home Improvement…

And no I’m not complaining, but deep within me brain I’m straining for understanding… You want to fall in love, and you want someone committed… You want something just a little unfamiliar, with a very visible difference… But when we walk up in your kitchen, and cook something other than chicken, all we get is how compared to the guys “your type” we’re 100% different, and I’m thinking – that’s the whole point… isn’t it?  And although I truly am puzzled, something deep in me is amused… You say you have a “type,” and I don’t mean to be rude, but if he is allegedly your type then how come he doesn’t woo you?  How come he doesn’t pursue you?  Types are supposed to be a match, one blood, and one flow, so I fail to comprehend how you’re claiming a type when you he doesn’t know…

It would seem that “types” suffer from mis-indentification due to generational pre-supposition, and mis-association, thus diluting the concept, and life effect and failing to spawn life and love, but instead skepticism and hesitation.   Maybe I should say that in terms of the laymen… “Types” come from the heart – not the mind.  Do your heartbeats thump in sync?  That’s the one that is your kind.   Do you see your reflection in his eyes… Does trustworthy faithfulness emanate off of him regardless of whether you’re close by?  He’s your kind.  That’s your type.  It comes from the heart – not the mind.

Ahhhhh, but who am I?  Mr. Jack.  I play the background, see light, operate the stage, for the actors to perform… I am an out of the window experience – fresh air – not at all in the box, but there’s not too many brave ladies out here, which is part of the problem.  Perfect am I?  Never would I make such a claim.  Better than others?  Comparison isn’t a game, that I seriously play… But just a little bit different… possessed of a weird kind of ignorance… in love always diligent… working on bein a man who can show his feelings?  Yeah… that’s me.

 

Out here outside the box.  You can climb out whenever you want, for it has no locks.  Put on your suit, and lock on your helmet… The universe is my backyard baby, and we’re going to go from star to star… Planet to planet… Visiting all of creation to share our love, to help stop mankind from sinking tragic, like the Titanic…

 

If you don’t see me, just give a shout for I’m never too far off… And if you forget who you’re looking for, just stop and give someone a tap, and they’ll tell you that…

They call me Mr. Jack.

 

 

 

 

~The Wordsmith

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