ITS BLOOD IN THE WATER

Listen to me when I hustle.
Not when I’m talking.
Not when I’m explaining.
When I’m moving.

I may not be perfect  but when I hustle, the water changes.
There’s blood in it.
And when there’s blood in the water, you already know what shows up.

That’s me.

I’m not thrashing around.
I’m not loud about it.
I’m not begging the moment to notice me.

I smell it.
I recognize it.
And I stay right where I am until it’s time.

That’s the difference.

This isn’t chaos.
This isn’t desperation.
This is hunger with control.

When I say respect, I mean it.
Not the polite version.
Not the smiling version.
The kind that understands distance, timing, and consequence.

You step toward me, you better come correct because I’m not here to play with the journey.
I’m too hungry for that.

I don’t rush the water.
I let it move.
I let it reveal itself.

Patient.
Watching.
Waiting my turn.

And when it’s time?
I don’t explain why I moved.

I move.

Because there’s blood in the water 
and I know exactly what I am in it.