What does it mean
To mean?
What does it matter
To matter?
How does it feel
To feel?
All I know is that,
It Feels like it Means something,
to Matter.

Money grows on trees
But sometimes
The ground gets dry
And there is nothing to spend
Except what you buy.

Money grows on trees
It surrounds them
Tenners underneath the leaves
Of what a fool believes.

Money is easy to get
But so hard to get
Buy, sell or let
Every purchase is a bet.

Money ain't love
But we all love money
And we'll join the revolution
once it's revolved
And we are the problem
The revolution must solve.

the only thing i can offer,
is my shoulder and the truth.

i agree the unknown can be hurtful,
so come out from under your veil,
the shadows that you call home,
join me in the light, come.

life is not sensible, so why should we be?
if we didnt give into emotions, where would humans be?
what is worse, the unknown or the untrue?
i know men are men, but there are some who are pure and true.

he was tall
i am short
he was strong
i am weak
he was the football star
and homecoming king
i was the girl
who sat alone in the library
and kept her head down in the hallways
he was loved
i was invisible
but some how
he, of all people
saw me, and loved me.
he made me feel beautiful
and made me happy
he tickled and teased his way
into my chaotic mind
he kissed and charmed his way
into my heart
but he was the sun
and i am the moon
we weren't meant to collide
but when we did
the universe exploded
and the blast sent us our own ways
he left me
but i never left him.
i follow in his shadow
glimpses of his iridescent light
is the only thing that keeps me going.
but he is the sun
and i am the moon
we will never be together again.
and that is what will **** me.

I can't write like you do
I can't really compose
Grace has always eluded me
In movement and in prose

You write of such big things
But they are still all the same
Me? I can't really toy
With ideas so insane

I'm not a professional wordsmith
My art hasn't been trained
When I write, the words flow easy
Unabashed and Untamed

You and your words are sculpted
Precisely, with finesse
But with a subdued gloss and lack luster
So twisted so suppressed

And now I see my dear self
Finally in a clear way
Not in my movements or in the glass
but on my inked page

So if you ask me, dear self
Which cage do I choose?
I'd choose my dented brass one
Instead of your golden noose.

Upon the stale wind, her body flails again
I came walking through the field
to learn about compassion
She was blonde and the last heart in town
The moon bathed her from within
What a loveless dream from that tree
touching God's skin.

Her feet above my head, painted in mud and above the sugarcane
And if I didn't love her so, I'd be able to walk from this pain
But I recall her warm breath the last time we kissed
The air tasted of a broken soul that I failed to fix

Blood under her nails, scratching freedom too slow
If she was yelling for my name, then I'd rather not know
It might as well been me who hung her above the stars
I did not give her enough of me and it will haunt me for years

My body is not the same
It hurts and I can't sleep long
I remember I used to sleep for days and days
Couldn't wake up if I wanted to
Dreaming vivid and wild things
I'm not sure when that stopped
But I don't dream anymore
And I can't sleep
And this body hurts me like I'm some kind of plague wreaking my havoc on its soft pink home

I will lead you on
Without even realizing it
And by then
It will be too late
To do anything