It's weird to think a year ago
We never even spoke
Now I tell you everything
Now you tell me everything
Now I trust you with the world
You now mean the world
And we never spoke a year ago
You were just kind of there

You think your friend
Is in danger
One of the happiest
Cutest people ever
This person we know is on their Facebook
Dragging all this ******* out
Making it seem like something was wrong
When in the end it was just our mate
And said she was asleep
Why'd you drag that out so long
Making us worry
To find it's really nothing
**** sakes

Parents would prefer kids stay away
from these three jobs,
cause as they'd say
There's no way to make any money.
At least you can sell paintings with art
or hock a few bucks with albums from your music.

No parents encourage children into any of these gigs,
especially prophecy.
Today, a kid would be fed pills for breakfast
if they expressed any interest in becoming the next Jesus or Buddha.

Suppose Moses decided to go try an open mic comedy night
instead trading his commandments for a set list
but I bet his adopted parents would have lectured him just the same.
At least Moses would have gotten a few laughs.

The job descriptions are strikingly similar,
just like the outcome
a 50% chance the audience will applaud and chant
or watch you in heavy, maudlin silence... sweating nervously struggling
to maintain a sane face while raucous thoughts of loathing and doubt chew then spit out pieces of heart and soul forcing a confrontation of an emasculated existence for five to seven minute while....

whoa, hi, sorry.
Must've been having a flashback for a few seconds,
forgive me.

There is a difference though,
in the mindset of this trio.
A poet knows they're crazy,
a comic ponders if they're nuts
while a prophet thinks everyone else is just cuckoo.

I can see why parents don't want you to
go near these three jobs,
problem being, it's more of a calling than a culling,
and once it's answered,
all I can say is, well...




good luck.....






have fun.

She looks in the mirror
At the age on her face
"I wonder what he thinks
of me this way?"

She considers her weight
and the pores on her skin
She thinks out loud
"I don't deserve him."

She picks apart
the woman he loves
Separating her worth
from all that she does
              
He looks in her eyes
and caresses her face
He sees it glowing with love
and full of grace

 The lines on her face
  he views with pride
  Recounting the victories
  each time they've been tried

The weight that she carries
 is that of a mom
 Nothing's too heavy
 She just marches on

These bodies will perish
 and mirrors offer no truth
True love abides
 beyond the corridors of youth

  No, she doesn't deserve me
  Perhaps God can see
  Conceivably, one day
  I'll be as worthy as she

i do not love you
i do not analyze every touch
i do not stare at your lips in movement,
i especially do not dream about the
day when you will love me back
i do not love you
i like him
he winks at me every time i walk through the
door and he plays basketball and you never liked
sports and i don't either but it's okay because
i do not love you
i like him
he bites his lip when he studies and his dark eyes are
the exact opposite of yours and maybe that's why i love them
because he is the exact opposite of you
i do not love him
i love you
but i cannot say that because you are a thousand miles away
from me and he is right here and i know that this
is wrong and i should stop and that i'm leading him on
and i need to get over you first but i can't bring myself
to do so

i love you
i wish i didn't

(h.l.)

How doth thou wake with an aching need?
For femmes and games and **** loads of ****?
To he who dost appreciate the weight of a lass
As spindly and petite with one hell of an ***?
Dost thou think for a mo...
That the only love felt tis that of a ***
Thou wast the only one left in the bar
With an overdose of E and a fool hearty scar
Nay my dear boy as one could only believe
A fuckboi thou art, and a fuckboi thou'll be