The ending is the beginning. It's easier to finish, or lose it before you win it. My mind is an apartment. And you're the tennant. The currency you pay is your attention when you rent it.
We're pretending that this pen's secreting black magic. Call it voodoo.
God said: "It beehoves you to let me choose you. I'll move you to do everything right. Versatile like JuJu Wright."
My ceiling is as high as the sky.
Believe the hype.
Thieves in the night pose as elitists, defeatists and non-believers. Toss you to the side when they believe they no longer need us. Stomping on your dreams with their Adidas. And bitter cold makes one scratch as if you're attacked by winter's chiggers. The rigors. A clerk checks my $50 bill. Made me feel like Mr. Nigga. Reality hits you with enough force to kill your sister. I review ways to find a way, listening to Blu who signed a deal with Arista. I'm your every man. Ambridextrous. I'll write with either hand. I'll be Ret(tro) like Eric or Perriman. And my cousin rocks the dreads. Likes to make his head rock. Plays music to make your head bob, grab your chest, calling for Beth. Randy or Redd Foxx. We're boys of nature, like Flair and the leg-lock or Fred in Bedrock. I stay up all night to write. I am so nocturnal. Angry flames make me hungry. Never pop the kernels when I burn them. I wear it on my sleeve. I bleed. My heart is external.
Focus on this, like the wall, when you're pausing at the urinal. Life is about so much more than just the booty. To dig deeper should your a duty. I know you're trying to screw me. But I'm not answering your calls. Sue me. There's no ugly found in beauty. Ugly is a trap. And the only beauty is in leaving ugly and never going back. I feel so proud. Legs tired, as if I've been running for miles. Scowls replaced with smiles. Yesterday ain't tomorrow and my time is now. Nobody ever said life was easy. It's never been a breeze. Forgive me for not crying. Can't feel sorry for you. They've never felt sorry me.
And it's been so hard for me. On the verge of rescue. No longer riding the pine. Mountains of doubt emerge and I'm trying to climb. Even my vocabulary's fallen behind. I won't look back, only forward, I have no time to rewind. Something's happening inside. Twenty-seven different ways. The right one I've been trying to find. It's the art. The love. It's yours and it's mine.
It is poetic graffiti.
And it's been so hard for me. On the verge of rescue. No longer riding the pine. Mountains of doubt emerge and I'm trying to climb. Even my vocabulary's fallen behind. I won't look back, only forward, I have no time to rewind. Something's happening inside. Twenty-seven different ways. The right one I've been trying to find. It's the art. The love. It's yours and it's mine.
It is poetic graffiti.
---EOB.
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