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I'm mugging you
Seriously though, have my coffee mug.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
daj, do wynagrodzenia: reszty.
daj: to niby: siebie;
a... dam... dam...
ale pierw: powiem:             to!
(ich) nicht werden
                  geben (ihr) das nacht!
first... i'll punch myself
hard enough to give myself
a plum-eye: ******* pacifists...
and then?
    then i'll strap a trouser belt
to protect my knuckles...
and then... then...
                    then: we'll "talk":
who might find a translator
ready...
   god...
i'm gagging for a
knuckle exchange...
        almost... itching!
like i might await
a shaving... from a Turkish
barber... in Essex...
of all Danish palaces;
and why would i want to allow
consort with these women?
considering the fact that
the russian ones believe in trans-national
grievance taxation:
of someone... who hasn't...
actually died...
              you know what?
*******...
suffer...
       watch me wipe my ***
with a satanic smile
ennobled
by a coulrophobia...
excesses of vogue
                      atypical models...
how is it... that...
coulrophobia doesn't translate
in reverse?
  and what's up
with the black privilege of
jass music, akin to white mozart...
as...  
  sure as ****, the drum would be
the first, and only thing,
prior to the people learning
the ******* clarinet!

oh drop me your ****** ***
holocaust dead bomb
on a polish ***...
     i triple, quadruple dare you!
you *******... ivory coast
   centipede!
               i'm *******...
as watts: wild-eyed...
       unstrap me from this
"unreality" of conversation...
then undo the internet banking...
and the rest of it...

             not adam watts!
    glitter & doom....
who?      tom waits...
oh **** me... blue valentine?
if that's not a **** with me
album... what is?
                 live circus?
        
do i look like a ******* ****-
(see the hyphen?
it's a prefix... the english are
lazy sometimes: couldn't,
i.e. could not,
remnants of shakespearean
english...

       i'll always cite macbeth...

  time, thou anticipat'st my dread
exploits: the flighty purpose never
is o'eertook, unless the deed go with it.
from this moment, the very firstlings
of my heart shall be
  the very firstlings of my heart.
   and even now, to crown my thoughts
with acts, be it thought and done.


it's hardly a racial slur, ergo...
why so ******* sensitive akin to a french
footballer or a ballerina?
   ****- (hyphen! hyphen!) ergo a prefix...
as already mention:
no, no...
   it's not: no iraqi ever called me a pa-ki
      (pákí)... yeah...
and you never called an afghanistani an
afghan, ever, no?
   pure camaraderie in that part of
the world... all the way... yeah yeah... yeah...
-stani (suffix) is sometimes missing
because... the english like to shorten words...
e.g. why is daniel: dan,
why is matthew: matt?
  why is muhammad: mo (farrah)?
                                    ******* pansies...
police your circumcised penises fiddling
english teenager girl, first,
come after my vocab. justifications: after;
savvy?

or a gypsy?
   by now...
     i'm looking like any
traveler...
and the world...
       forever resembled
a world,
  in the confines of
      a claustrophobia...

but... if there's a bigger concern for
a world...
  and a freedom...
i want a bare knuckle fight...
a black eye...
namely...
you bring  BOXING GLOVE...
and i'll bring...
     a LEATHER BELT...
wrapped around my knuckles,
and the wrist...
    like i might care to give
a second attempt to smile...

ah... the men... who care
about minding, if not in the least,
keeping women...
      bye bye, bye bye...
       and i've allowed myself
to know my grandfather...
as i did the slap in the face...
and...
the key question:
in the unfathomability of counting
the 32 / 4 ratio...
alas... one fist... one smile...

and countless... dentistry encounters...
because?
   because the rest?
the cultural artifacts of a today?
  lost to h'americana...
            as i might have wished...
for my prior genes
to make an autobiography
in **** germany...
  
   what?
  
      well... obviously: the oops.

no, for the crescendo...
you know...
           i'm getting this funny vibe...
gott ist tot... it's not really spectacular...
nietzsche really believed in eternity,
to the point where he pointed:
what does science offer, only old age...
what does religion provide? eternity...
oh nietzsche was big on eternity...
   gott ist tot is as unspectular as:
is it: how to do you pronounce x,
or is it: how do you pronunciate y?
debate:
              everyone says around here
the former... since no one wants to be a *****...
pro-nun-ci-ate (pro-nun-cíate)...
   might as well replenish the vocab. bank
and replace the word with:
how do you elocute z? / recite)....

gott ist tot / gott ist tod...
    "same ****, different cover"...
you know why i believe in god?
    not the christian reference points...
salvation blah blah, saviour and hide & seek blah blah...
n'ah... where would i derive all my vocab.
hunger if not from him?
   some men derive their vocab. from
women or gambling...
            i am not in the position of their
luxury... so god it is...

            primarily though?
               god is metaphysics...
             ergo? his judgement is not clouded
by metaphysical questioning...
it's impossible to receive a metaphysical
answer from a metaphysical question
when engaging with a metaphysical
ontological paraphrase of one's own search
for meaning in this mortal frame...

oh sure sure, my belief in god is as juvenille
as anyone else's belief in humanity's
clarity when it comes to jurisprudence
and its application...
    i've experience "jurisprudence" once...
drive-by phone theft...
me and three fwends...
   i catch the number plate...
i tell one of my fwends to note it down,
police station, report, culprit found,
a sit in at a barkingside police station
looking at mug images,
spot the ****** (it was dark when the mugging
took place, photographic memory, **** happens)...
a court session, australia is playing england
at the ashes (****, i missed it)...
in court the defence lawyer shows me
another picture of the culprit...
back then photogrpahs had dates
attached to them...
the photograph? over 4 years old...
i tell him: but this photograph is 4 years old!
how can i identify if this is the same
person: i, myself, will probably
don a beard in four years time!
      a simple slip-up...
        now that i have a beard:
it's so much more fun than growing your
hair long... i hated the nickname
chewbacca back in high school when i was
growing mine for a french braid...
i walk out of the court,
come to terms with the detective...
and i see the same hunger in him as i see in me...
will justice be served?
highly unlikely... since the victim
didn't recognize the *** in the mug-shots...
justice was probably not served...

   and this is how god plays into all of this,
hell or heaven, blah blah...
man created the figure of domina Iustitia
as blind... god created death to be blind...
justice was never supposed to be blind,
death was: the unfortunate deaths
of teenagers in car accidents,
among all the other freak accidents...

clouded with so many metaphysical questions
i don't appreciate man's ability to adhere
to jurisprudence without being
subjectively contaminated...
i have more belief in an "imaginary"
god than belief that strains me to belief
in man's sense of justice...
          the nuremberg trials are a rare exception...
but only when the culprits are
unabashed and fathomable by a collective
sense of pride... a blidness...
i believe in god, because i'd love to experience
the judgement of a post scriptum of
metaphysics...
  personally? i have been wronged...
heavily...
            i will not name names....
i know when and how i was wronged,
and by whom...
                2007... Canterbury...
      i won't name names: i'm not a rat...
man is too clouded with metaphysical questions
to begin with, god isn't,
he's a metaphysical ontology "bias"...
which is why, he is primarily a jurisprudent
answer...
   i'd love to experience divine jurisprudence,
hell or heaven are not of my concern...
and i don't imply divine jurisprudence
associated with the polytheistic take of
jurisprudence via a solipsistic mechanism
of a minor god and the person in question
without the hurt party...
in monotheism the god is solipsism personified...
these days: also the personna non grata...
so no... gott ist nicht tot...
            he's a personna non grata...
i just don't appreciate the human *******
of law, law governance...
   come on, in england you can receive
an a.s.b.o.s. for your cockerel being too loud
in the morning, your dog barking...
           would you trust man with
jurisprudence?
  a woman was cleared of the ******
of her husband
       when she hammered his head into a pancake:
over an abusive relationship...
police, weren't, "there"?!
sure sure... the hammer will do...
i believe in god without a sense of reward...
i just don't think man is capable of
passing justifiable laws...
no man could ever pass the eternal laws,
gravity... 100°C for the boiling of water...
i need a being  who has groundwork
in eternal laws, in unshakeable laws...
the ten commandments aren't:
you shall not...
   more... maybe, you shouldn't...
they are the most pristine jurisprudent
laws available... the: maybe you shouldn't,
eh, chappy?

       i just don't like playing the thesaurus game
on the more tight-knit game
of "passing" the wink-wink of Solomon's
judgement...
please, **** me please,
i'll eat 20 raw herrings in a cream sauce,
slurp 30 oysters,
eat 40 strawberries on a hangpverl
eat out about 50 harem virgins
like a castrato if you ask me, nicely,
**** camel cockey:
lucly i landed on a black gold slurp
with plenty of bangladeshi slaves:
******* of riyadh...
     what did muhammed tell you?
you camel jockeys / sand *******
have clearly forgotten...
******* arabs: short attention span...
you need to remind
the retards...
the dajjal would come from the east...
a palace of gardens...
well obviously the prophet wasn't
thinking about genghis khan...
            
  hmm barbarians...
vikings, arabs: yet so inclined to like poetics...
funny, that...
the civilized peoples banished
the poets...
            the ruling class and their cushioned
people: sacrosanct sycophants...
wankers, basically.

    the hajr? muhammad spoke of the dajjal
coming from the east,
and the east being a city of gardens...
where isn't riyadh and where is mecca?
isn't riyadh east of mecca?
was the dajjal to come from the outside
of islam, or from wtihin?
      last time i checked...
sh'ite islam isn't friendly to sunni islam...
if islam was the one true religion...
would have a shcism have occurred?
i don't think so...
   a persian would never bow before
an arab... that much os true...

oh i believe in god...
given how man practices jurisprudence...
is it some sort of, a, thesaurus game
i wasn't told about?
to me the human quest for jusctice is
a thesaurus game...
man is incapable to pass but one,
eternal, law...
he's great at nuanced laws...
laws allocated to sports...
i mean, **** me, cricket?
the best vocab. you'll ever pick up...

even god isn't as pertinent
in making the sort of music associated
with the limited alpha-to-beta
of A, B, C, D, E, F, and G...
wow! seven... seven?!
how many heads does the beast
of revelation have? oh... 7!

i'll stop tolerating islam, and start respecting it,
when it, acknowledges its presence
as a character study in the book of revelations...
then i'll just move on,
having made my point...

until that time comes...
    it's 600 years shy of becoming what
degenerate christianity has become,
oh and it's ripe...
it's gagging to implode!
600 years and wait for it to become
the next secular vasal conglomorate...

the warning muhammad gave
about "the best from the east"
was in point of question:
   a reference ti gneghis khan...
more like ibn saud:
  thst fat diabetic one eyed ogre...
and the legacy of decadence he left
behind...

saudi men with slavuc girlfriends,
buying up pink cushions and *******
chihuahuas...
**** after ****...
  you know the three slavic proverbs?
1. better a sparrow in your
hand, than a dove on your rooftop?
explanation?
better the small joys at-hand,
than impossible possibilities out of reach....
2. a drunk can spot east,
past mecca, whenever honing
the safety of his own bed... even at night...
not much of a proverb...
3. i don't care to rememeber...

once toleration comes into play,
i will, respect... just a waiting game...
i'm pretty sure no iranian will
bow down to a sunni camel jockey...
i like proud *******,
it implies: there are absolutes,
un-moveable goal posts...

                      if you are ever to bind yourself
in supporting a "side" outside a sports' dynamic,
always the outsider...
always the outsider... in this case?
the ****'ite islam brigade...
       the persians...
the sunnis can shove it...
   *****, bones, whatever....

                   ****'ite islam i can
fathom, even respect,
sunni islam i just tolerate...
  as much as iran takes claims for the
big satan in ref. to h'america...
well... if h'america supports the infantile
saudi arabia, who's to blame them?

you know that polonaise joke about
about the pacifism of jews in
2nd world world war poland?
the joke ran along the words:
weren't the jews shooting the nazis
using crooked elbows (rifles)?
they always seemed to miss them,
taunted into walking into gas chambers,
the ******* hobbits...

          what? some bolshevik Brooklynian
jewish rada is to spare me
                 the pay-up diffrential
telling me, i was wrong?

  as i said before: the nazis lamented
when the warsaw uprising happened...
no, st. paul's doesn't stand proud
because, because...
   even with the blitz...
                 the luftwaffe were told:
you drop a bomb on st. paul's: firing squad...
and when notre-dame de paris -
last time i checked...
   the nazis didn't luftwaffe the **** out
of paris... did they?!

                  the nazis weren't mongols;
no people so well versed in chanel in terms
of their military being so well
   suited & booted could ever make such a
                              architectural sacrilege...

what?! people under the silicon curtain
are gagging, begging even: for nazis!
can i be the first?!
i just want to please the hungry!
if not punk then moving swiftly into ska...
am i the first?
   siliziumvorhang...
well, **** me... from under the eisenvorhang...
what's with these neo-communist pseudos?

and the hebrew god?
a jealous god... so a god with the knowledge
of the existence of other gods...
why wouldn't a jealous god have
no knowledge of other ("imagianry") gods?
to be jealous of only one's own existence?!

3 / 1: that's the ratio....
that's the only ratio... 3 times i experienced
love at first sight:

when i fell in love at first sight...
malina, samantha, janina,
priya....

equal measure: isabella of grenoble...

in reverse:
magda, promis, ilona, kot (i forget her name,
7 years old, first kiss, you can be forgiven
to forget, she had two twin sisters
and she was the senior,
her fasther drove a distribution truck,
milk, i think)...

****, i actually mismanaged
that ratio...

i believe in "a" god...
since i find too much of human jurisprudence
to be riddle with the thesaurus...
i don't think man can pass
law, he can "suppose so"...
but he will never pass the sort of law,
made forbidden,
or absolutely allowed....
i don't believe in a god akin
to the sort of a pontous pilate god
where i'll always find myself
outside of punk evolving into ska...

         mind you...
i'd hate to be trapped within
the confines of an atheistic exclusion zone
of intellect,
      to be trapped in nothing is one
thing, but to be trapped inside
the confines of an atheist's "nothing"
is quiet another....
i don't like being a hamster inside
a cognitive wheel of another...
   god is the jurisprudence spirit,
man the metaphysical spirit...
and i would very much like to stand
in the light of divine law being passed
to finally feel my shadow...

kult: brooklyńska rada żydów...
  not familiar?
  i forgot punk a long time ago...
esp. when californians came up with their
version, ergo? ska...

i'm currently taping a film
about the silesian vampire...
how strange, that the prussians came
back into the ***** of the polonaise...

growing a beard is so much fun!
fiddle after fiddle: and no violin!
atheists bore me
as much as the theistic hags
who's only ambition are
the thrill associated with Sunday
h'america and cinema...
               i can imagine only one
heaven...
where i am blind and given
               a large library of music.
Jamie Moore Oct 2014
November is the cruelest month
Reminiscence forced of things far gone and
Bitter foreshadowing of what is to come

The leaves have lived up to their name
The trees, a shell of what they once were
The grass clings to its last hope
The temperature makes its empty threats

The beauty of Autumn deteriorates
She is haughty and cruel
We were strung along for so long
But like all good things
Her presence is too fleeting

We try to rationalize her departure
We didn’t need her anyway
Her sister is far more beautiful
Autumn was never committed
We will look for someone else
What luck!
Her sister is coming
Her name is winter!
But alas, how could we love
Someone so bitter and cold?

November is the cruelest month
Joy is attacked in a dark alley
Melancholia does the mugging
Bitterness steals the Hope
November tears apart the heart
With a ruthlessness unseen
In any other month.

The days are soon so short and cold
The landscape is so barren
There is a hint of snow
But it is more like rain
It is so unfortunate to see
Nature’s beauty going all to waste

The thirtieth is here
Judgement Day has arrived
It is only possible to conclude
July was great if too hot indeed
January hard but nearer the end
September its usual lovely self
One month stands alone in its horror
November is the cruelest month
Allen Wilbert  Nov 2013
Mugging
Allen Wilbert Nov 2013
Mugging

Heart thumping at a rapid beat,
***** running down to my feet.
Getting mugged, gun in face,
the one **** day, I left home my mace.
He wants my money or my life,
wishing I had some kind of knife.
Slowly going for my wallet,
tears dripping like a leaky faucet.
Getting anxious, he ***** his gun,
should I submit or should I run.
Then I kicked him in the *****,
watching him as he slowly falls.
Grabbed the gun from his hand,
asked for his money, as he started to stand.
He said please mister, I'm out of work,
I said who cares you stupid ****.
He showed me his wallet, which was bare,
I could smell his **** in his underwear.
I told him to turn around and walk away,
he said till I get your money, I must stay.
Had no choice but to shoot him dead,
two bullets in his brainless head.
From the gun, wiped off my prints,
limped home like I had shin splints.
Went home and took a shower,
felt kinda bad as my soul became sour.
Closed my eyes and only saw red,
maybe I should have forced him to run instead.
I hate living in a state of misery,
from that day on, I felt kinda jittery.
Both of us at one point begged for mercy,
just a typical day in north New Jersey.
Shaun Meehan Nov 2014
Features, my reflection—
subtle hints stare back offering wordless reply,
their evidence a betrayal of age.
A wrinkle looking deeper,
mane of face, of head—hairs
fresh lacking pigment.

Vain attempts made to mend heart,
to sooth soul's dread.
Testimony of experience
of wisdom, persistence, perception,
an impotent contraceptive, the argument
aberrant.

Regret to cloud memory, my youth
seeming a flesh and blood cliche.
Tiny footnotes heavy with prose,
words in bold
to distract mind's eye—a demand of attention.
Edging out tomb's more beautiful weight
of love and heartache
of passion's attempt failing,
to try again, sinking before succeeding.
An era's dusk and dawn anew, life's advent
unpredictable—without cause changing.

Notion hanging lingering, poisoning future,
the venom of defeat an insidious invasion.
This new age creeping toward night
in this stage my life's sun less bright.
Maturity's introduced responsibility,
some enjoyable while others to own hostility.
A brigand mugging freedom—time for leisure.
Spurring combat for what remains of youth,
fingers wrapping air in futile seizure.

The inevitable to command subservience,
presuming ownership of life, though the mature
demonstrate the defiance of the immature.
Objects, activities, music assaulting ear,
their manner,
symbols of strict adherence to who once was—
a spiteful surrender refusal.

A piece of me defining me until no more,
years holding power—threatening
to change who I am at very core.
Canvas construction the colour of murre,
rubber toe caps the shade of pure.
Design worn since youth, dead and resurrected;
a million mile shoe of valorous resistance—insurrection,
a Converse rebellion.
In torment of age's scars,
I'll never be too old to wear my All Stars.
jcollin Dec 2011
My wit was stolen
in the shattered morning --
darkness robbed me of meaning
with its long, empty knives.

I search my pockets
for its incandessence,
turning out only absence
and a deep crushing sigh.

In the distance I see
others laughing, tossing
wit back and forth
like a shuttle **** at a garden party
sparkling, forceful, levity, bright.

I brush myself off
and walk towards them.
Dallas Phoenix Mar 2015
Swirling a frosty straw
Stuck up like a victory flag in winter ground
With my lips wrapped around it
I stare into this empty canvas
of a vanilla malt
And project my cartoonish headaches
into it to devour it
Oh those ****** Doo monsters
Shadows that lurk to cut my Tom & Jerry humor
Only to formulate semblances of evil
A Mojo JoJo caricature
I then project into my milkshake
His smirk haunts the smile of Tweety Bird
In my Hanna-Barbara mindfield
Colorful spirals of animated joys
Let me know slurp Elmer Fudd shotgun
That was mugging my creativity
And robbed me of my motive
Let me taste the refreshing winds
That flow through the deserts of Road Runner
Taking laps around my heart
With its true intentions in a love letter
I will never get
Soon slurped and eaten to take away the thoughts
And now I hope I can drink another
To rip out the rest of the pain that in my heart
X A V I E R  Oct 2013
Jeans
X A V I E R Oct 2013
At first I hear snarls, "Nice
jeans, ******!" although I'm
sure they don't include any
punctuation when ragging
on my anorexic pants
as if my jeans have anything
to do with my sexuality as if
the color of skin had anything
to do with last week's mugging
as if Catholics didn't once
**** for religion.
Spt 5-- domestic dispute inv alcohol + firearms Hawkins Terr. area-- Spt 7-- burglary purses stolen from 3 cars Wipple St-- night of Spt 18-19-- vandals untied shoes of large statue Center Park-- Spt 20-- mugging homeless suspect young woman cheeseburger Rt 8--
Aaron LaLux Sep 2018
Gettin’ ****t on like I’m The Villian,
got this queasy feeling on the line reeling,
coming undone at the same time wound up and spun,
I’m done playing but stuck at the table with The Dealer still dealing,

want to throw myself up out of myself,
can escape every position except the one I’m in,
can’t escape yourself if knowledge is wealth,
then I’m loaded & still spending my winnings,

got Karma Credit but I’m morally cash poor,
because I just fckt my girlfriend as if she was a *****,
and I feel terrible or rather horrible about it,
because i think I’m infected by what neglect did without a cure,

no one is pure,
at least I’m not that’s for sure,
I'm tainted with devils in my head painted with what I spilled I’m red,
sick with the sort of illness that can't easily be cured,

in fact got a bad case of the blues,
but instead of strumming a guitar I’m taking things too far,
cut her so bad with my fingernails,
that I fear it might leave a few scars,

tied her up so tight,
that her wrists turned purple,
see she’s attracted to bad boys,
and I warned her that that’s the type of attraction that can hurt you,

little girl shouldn’t be out past her curfew,
nothing good ever happens past midnight,
but we’re both running from something,
both stand outs in the in crowd still something doesn’t sit right,

I’m uncomfortable,
because I think maybe all humans are disgusting,
maybe we just cause each other pain and trash the earth’s surface,
maybe we deserve to feel guilty & that’s why we are all fcking distrusting,

maybe I’m gonna fckn **** myself,
but this is a card game so then again maybe I’m bluffing,
maybe everything’s going to be alright,
maybe I’m being uptight for nothing,

but I’ll tell you what I feel like the **** of my own joke,
but I don’t give a fck so instead of changing I’m just shrugging,
mean mugging every person I pass suspicious of every bloke,
because these days crime pays and everyone’s always up to something,

and I just want to get ghost,
but I can’t and I guess that’s the way it goes,
so I’m sittin’ in the uncomfortable position,
of being both a role model as well as a criminal,

Gettin’ ****t on like I’m The Villian,
got this queasy feeling on the line reeling,
coming undone at the same time wound up and spun,
I’m done playing but stuck at the table with The Dealer still dealing…

∆ LaLux ∆
Geno Cattouse Feb 2013
The runway begins to blur as the nose goes up slowly.
That sinking feeling invades from head to toe. Taught  knuckles engage.
Fight or flight in mid air flight. Hope instruments checked.
my how far we have come.

A pathological liar is like bank of mirrors that go on to infinity
nothing there to stop the infinite delusion. This poem is about s friend of mine
I almost dare call name. She is an infinitely interesting study. like
watching a Mugging in slow motion. Just say the thing when you
get the notion then deny with a smile.

A fine girl hard working driven. but to what and by what.
Her light blue eyes give away nothing at first .Her laughter was honey dripped,
One day the scaly beast did flash as I rubbed my eyes  to focus but it was gone.

Years past and the thing sprouted tiny wings and flitted
about like a moth  and later landed  with a thud. Belligerent and  claiming
space at my table.
Amazing that delusion can have weight and occupy space.  of itself by itself and for itself
I did love her once but she is no longer.stronger forces have laid claim and I cannot call her name for

fear of my heart falling to the abby's, to which my friend has gone, Never to return I fear. She
A victim of life's tortures, Succumbed to the demon there deep asleep in strands of DNA
gather round and throw the flowers on the gleaming   glass casket for she has passed on but just as lovely
She smiles up at me from the grave then turns her back and fluffs the pillow defiantly. I wipe a tear and wave. looking down on the dear departed.
Six deep still awake but lost forever. My words go unheard, my tears fall like raindrops on the crystal.
Lost in delusion the lies soothes her confusion.

A beautiful ghost now.Taunts me.
Nothing breaks the spell. The fall is a graceful simulation of flight.
my hands reach out still but she folds her arms across he *****
lies to me in gesture. tortured circular contortions that put me back at the start
not enough breadcrumbs retrieve her way.
I guess 44 was her number. The sweet insanity did come then
though I hardly noticed at first.
Well No one told me about her
Daddy knew. so did Mom
as did all. The skeleton , found the skeleton key and let
itself free from the inside with hardly a noise.
Dangerous and lovely.
swept away forever.
My darling. Take my hand  
one last time.
She did reply."Nevermore."
I pray that is a lie.
Brandon brown  Oct 2013
My Life
Brandon brown Oct 2013
Never lived in the hood, I been good
Grew up in Glendale cuz pops did everything he could 
To keep this big roof that covers everywhere I stood
And keep bills paid so the house work like it should
But, that don't mean that I ain't live with no problems
I grew up liking girls and all I tried to do was holla
From 05 to 09 I used to always pop my collar
And walked up to see what a chic would do for a dollar
But come 2010 I learned a dollar doesn't get far
Start asking pops for money, he said what you need these bills for
I said just to have cash so I can buy stuff myself 
He said how is it yo self when it's coming from my wealth 
And in the end he was right so I ain't ask for no more help
Got a job, got paid, getting green, sea kelp
And well, I guess it all turned out great
From 210 to 2 now I been working for the cake
More hours, more pay
Is what I always say
Just to go and motivate
So I can get through everyday
Man I do this for thrill, I don't really need this money
And stop mugging me down, I ain't tryna take yo hunny
But please don't get mad if she like me cuz I'm stunning
And you dressing kinda bummy
Man yo breds ain't even gummy
My high tops get their own box
And my boxes reach high tops
My collection's a high top
You can't even make gumby
You funny
You mad at me for what ? Yup, nothing 
But haters gone hate so ill let you do what you does see
Cuz time don't ever stop, matter fact it's running from me
And I'm tryna catch up cuz less time means less money
So you go do you, and I'm gone do me til I'm done g
Cuz I ain't wasting sand in my glass if you don't love me
And don't be fake now, I don't want you tryna hug me
Cuz you know germs is germs and haters be on that *****
Yeah im nerdy, I'm smart
I'm a walking piece of art 
And I write these rhymes for fun
But it all comes from the heart 
I keep hundreds, yes hundreds of poems inside the dark
And more hundreds, maybe thousands get lost before they start
You know how you at the store putting stuff in yo food cart
Then get home and wonder what you bought all of this food for ?
Yeah these poems fill hunger that resides deep inside me
They are not just fun, they have now become a pride for me
And maybe it'll be more, maybe this pride can make it shine for me
Maybe all these girls around the world will build shrines of me
But now I gotta go, cuz you know how time can leak
Plus I don't want y'all think that y'all know what defines B. 
But I can't stop there, it's unfair to the public
And I know that y'all like it but I dare y'all to love it
Cuz if you love it then I'll keep going
Till it start snowing
And you knowing
Even though it's snowing
It ain't never boring 
Cuz these bars wasn't meant for snoring 
Meant for adoring fans
That'll still love me when I'm old and I'm done touring
I could do this for the rest of my life
I just love it, it takes pain away and dries every eye 
With out poems, I don't know man I just might die
This is real, when I write I just cannot lie
So, you can catch me in my notepad writing 
I'm tryna make this gold, y'all tryna start fighting
And to me that's motivation, I ain't saying that I'm liking it
I'm just saying if it's there I might as well get insight from it
And it's crazy, I just noticed that I can't lose
When it's bad I'm still good, when it's good I cruise
I'm sorry that it all happens at the expenses of you
But you can't stop my grind, imma do what I do
100
I'm tryna make it from the mil to the summit
I heard it's all lonely but the top is my abundance
So I'll bring who I want I don't care what the rules say
Chillin above the competition straight playing 2k
That dream will never fade in
That's why I always stay in
Cuz I wanna see the day where I can say that I made it
And they love me
I see the finish line so I'm running
Got a talent and a dream and you can't take that from me
No obstacles can stun me
I don't care about who judge me
I got my mind set so just tell the top I'm coming
Cause I am
Nicole Dawn  May 2015
News
Nicole Dawn May 2015
I turned on the news today,
And realized
We live in a really ****** world

Four robberies
A ****
A ******

Oh hey look;
There's someone supporting cancer
Oh wait;
It's because their baby died

More robberies
A mugging
Child abuse

And I learned all this,
Before the first commercial break

This is what the news teaches kids:
We live in a really ****** world

Yet we wonder
*Why more kids are depressed

— The End —