you got a new idea
you want to start a new project
what's holding you back?

you have all the resources you need
you don't know how to use it
what's the point?

you need to learn your tools
you need to know the potentials of it
the more you know, the better you will get

If I versed God in a game of pool,
Would his style of play be awkward or cool?
Would he miss some shots, just to be kind?
Or sink them all, leaving me behind?
When the game ends, would he leave the room bored?
Or stay back and help me move my skills forward?

What is that sound?
tick tick, tick tock.
It’s really quite odd,
I don’t own a clock.

It’s ninety one past thirteen,
wait, that can’t be right.
Time for another pill,
medicinal light.

Just smile, and nod,
until your cheeks hurt.
Now laugh, pull it back,
compliment their new shirt.

It’s orange, no it’s red,
**** what is that hue?
What do you mean it’s white?
It’s ******* pastel blue.

Now throw out a joke,
and some proper context.
Good job, you failed,
like an impotent sext.

You’re talking too loud,
oh Jesus, shut up.
How much have you drank?
Really? One cup?!

Finger guns now,
and a smooth exit we go.
Ya that wasn’t awkward,
you nailed it, fo sho.

What has happened to me,
to my social skills?
Frantic, and panicked,
are not conditionally ideal.

I want you to like me,
I want you to see.
To see through my awkwardness,
and help set me free.

I do talk too much,
my mouth won’t shut up.
It’s like the relay in my brain,
is broken, or corrupt.

I’m not usually like this,
I hear my mouth say.
Constantly apologizing,
and then you’ve gone away.

I want to explain,
the jumbled mess of my head.
But I don’t know how to do it,
without making it worse instead.

No I’m not weird,
I’ve just been alone.
Social skills need exercise,
and mine are skin and bones.

When you walk away,
another part of me dies.
Part of me wants to explain,
and part of me wants to cry.

Im turning into two people,
the oddball and the norm.
When they try to coexist,
it creates the perfect storm.

So no, I don’t blame you,
for walking away.
Just know that I’m sorry,
for being this way.

You don't consider my rhymes smart?
******* and your boring art
I express more with a smelly ****

There's a link between madness and creativity
That's why I'm able to rhyme so consistently
Like my father before me

Some idiots say poems are gay and dull
You have no imagination or soul
Gay is not an insult