The poem that I'd never write..
The kind of poem that'd show me in a different light.
I scoff at Benja F bills
Women come and go,
I be popping pills that make the world turn slow.
I yolo *******,
Holler at team swag,
Money and the *******,
Tell her throw it in the bag..

That's the kind of poem that I'd never write.
The kind of poem where I ****** everyone in sight.
I keep it real hood.
Gangster all day.
Look me the wrong way,
Dead body in the hallway.
You don't want no problems,
I'm strapped like Velcro,
Dummy I don't play no games, Nintendo.

This made little sense,
something wasn't right.
This is the kind of poem I would never ever write.

It's the pen-equipped rebel, real nutty like pistachios.
Never looking back at the past, or the path he chose,
Tries to keep his passion stowed, but it's such a challenge,
When the world's attacking me, I'm never taking damage.
I use words to my advantage, and the ink stains are my varnish,
Shielding me from any weak attempts to try and tarnish me.
I can weather any weather, whether worse snowstorms or better.
I think I got this poem thing to a Tee just like the letter.
I can turn a pebble to a mountain,
One rebel to a thousand,
Cut myself and bleed, turn my death into a fountain, of youth..

I remember, road trips in the astro,
Times were always great but the trips were never fast though
Such a hassle, wishing it'd be faster,
Looking like a box turtle, moved just as slow.
We'd leave almost every weekend in the summer,
I never thought any of the trips we took were ******,
In my mind were fun, they probably were funner,
Man, we loved that van, what I'd do for another.

Many great times, sand, beach and sun
Some taboo nights, lustful and fun
Thanks for the times, van,
****, what a run.

Remember the past? man, those were the days,
Where the hardest decision was what games we would play.
Our biggest worries were scraped knees and curfews,
Now we have to worry bout late fees and work blues,
We'd get our boo-boos kissed and healed by our mothers,
And spend countless hours playin Mario with my brothers.
those were the times, I wouldn't trade it for the world.
My childhood was awesome, I can't put it into words.

Hay mucha negatividad.
No tanta caridad
Porque no todo el año?
Porque hacernos daño?
Hasta los amigos mas cercanos se convierten en extraños
And I don't understand it,
What's wrong with this planet?
Why is there such evil?
If there's a God then why'd he plan it?
El hombre ha matado mucho mas que cualquier cancer.
There's way too many questions,
And not nearly enough answers.