I wonder if
Emotionally stable people just
Sit on the throne in the mornings
Flushing out
Unwanted emotions
Filtering through
The daily
Bs

Who the hell you think are to be demanding me a poem?
Mozart of this art like all these written no-gimmick lyrics are my profession,
Woah, that flow's a shard piercin' you and while you're bleedin', I tell you a fine confession:
This is freedom of expression, this is me out of depression, physics is nowhere near a suggestion for reason behind the never-yet-reached depths of my perception.

Boy you be readin' these ill lines by a writer so sublime, you couldn't fathom or imagine what it's like to be behind the steerin' wheel of the high-paced drive up in my mind,
All these spitting free-verse like that's skilled, yeah sure but they're nowhere close to flowin' poems so potent it could blind,
You can play this like over to cope, you'll need to pause and rewind not one, two, three but at least four times.

This is be that sick spittin' raw ****, you aint heard on the radio,
This be that thick ****, masculinity half gentleman half wild-lion ROAR and make those ladies hoes,
This be the new age slim shady yo, basic rappers way too slow, Mumble rapping on a track and reading **** like BABY PRO,
Na **** that mainstream ****, dawg this be that underground vicious ****,
Boy I've been slitting throat downtown before rap ever was for the ***** *****,
I'm that middle-school rap era, where gangsters could mean black but also Vinnie Paz, shout-out to the most-feared real-deal Gladiator straight from that Sicily pit,
I love Paz for his delivery, flow and anti-gimmicky lyrical potency like no other G that'***** that'***** the scene,
I love Tech for the flow man, Em for the show and love Minaj for puns and Hopsin for being the pioneer or bringing REAL RAP back, he's a cunning industry player but **** HE GOT FLOW. Chris Webby for the raw masculinity-vibe progressive ****, spreading those vibes getting the world to hear his messages,
I love Bugzy and Devs and a little Wiley doesn't hurt,
Grime Scene's a beautiful off-shoot of rap that unlike mumble crap is an old beautiful tree that grew straight from the dirt,
Imma leave it here, let me on this site so your ***** can squirt,
If you're a guy you'll wish you were me but turnin' me down's buryin' what you know be that legit **** that like a Phoenix'll rebirth.

She remembers the day the stick turned blue, “wow for **** up the spout”
He remembers her smile when she told him.  Smile, really?
Then there was telling her parents, “okay we'll make this work”
Then there was telling his parents, “You threw your scholarship away for this *****, you're a *******”
She remembers the morning sickness
He remembers the hangovers
She felt warm inside when he said it was her choice
He felt like dying when she said she was keeping it
She framed the first ultra sound photo
He deleted his Myspace page
She noticed the day she started showing
The same day he noticed the legs on the waitress
She was snickered at behind locker doors
He quit the team
Her mom brought home baby shoes
His mom circled the classifieds
She got peanut butter cravings
He got hand gun cravings
It's a girl
It's a girl
She remembers finally talking again after four months
He remembers being cornered after 3rd period
She wanted to pick names
He wanted to hang up
She remembers their second first date
He remembers how nice she was
This could really work please kiss me goodnight
We'll see how this goes please don't kiss me
The doctors say the shadow on the ultra sound could be nothing
What if the thing on the picture is something
She prays for the health of Amelia
He begs God to do something about this
They have such a bright future ahead
He had such a bright future ahead
She goes to Goodwill for maternity clothes
He rings her up at the cash register with a kiss
She remembers buying baby clothes at the mall
He remembers how cute the onesies were
She sees him smile
Amelia...good name
She's due next week
He packs his cleats to make room for the crib
She packs to move into his house
His dad packs for a motel
She's still craving peanut butter
He's still craving the waitress
She ate peanut butter
He ate the waitress
She's in labour
He's in traffic
Hold my hand
Ouch...Okay breathe honey...ouch
There's no crying
Nice, quiet baby
Amelia's dead
I'm not a father
She cries into her shirt
He leaves the hospital
She cries into the onesies
He returns the crib to Wal Mart
She burns the ultra sound photos
He grabs his cleats
She gets a hair cut
He quits his job
She returns the diapers and shower gifts
His new Myspace says “single”
She shops for a prom dress
The waitress finds out he's seventeen
Her mom hugs her as she falls asleep
His dad pats him on the back after wind sprints
She can't stop starring at him during prom
He wonders if she went to prom
She writes Amelia in bubble letters on a piece of paper she hangs on her wall a reminder of what's important
He buys a Costco pack of condoms and tacks one to the wall a reminder of what's important

It's fun...
Like f'n with the lights on.

So I can see every inch...
Of your body...
Wincing with pleasure unmeasurable.

That **** so ****...
Like the way you look at me...
Undressin' me mentally.

I can read your naughty mind girl...
That's why I spank your behind girl...
That's why I make your toes curl...
When our bodies unite and become a blur.

Don't do drugs
I don't do drugs,
They're for mugs,
And thugs,
And used to exterminate bugs,
I don't do smack, crack or nick knack paddy whack,
I don't do green its not clean, you don't know where its been,
I don't do drugs,
I don't do **** or fizz there all a pile of ****,
I don't do rush bush or the silent hush,
I'm scared to trip, or take a dip, specially with me plastic hip,
I just don't do drugs,
I don't do coke, the smoke, the devils poke,
The line of fine, is a crime, you'll get time,
Don't do drugs,
It's for mugs,
And thugs,
But mostly they're used to exterminate bugs.

To me, perfect is an opinion.
Nobody's perfect is the same.
But the tell me this,
why is "you're so perfect" a compliment?
Why does another person's perfect matter?

We wake up and strive for perfection.
But what happens when we get there?
Do we lose our motivation?
No, because we never get there...

Even when you think you've scaled your mountain,
all it takes is one insult,
to send you thundering down again.
Or does it?

What about body positivity?
Or not giving a **** anymore?
well I am not those people,
and my perfect is on the floor.

I said "Hey
What are you doing today"
She replied "Don't know
Gotta go"
And that's all she said
To me

Cause it just seems like
You don't want to talk to me no more.....
So you just say goodbye

Hey please, just give me the time of day
I don't give a **** what the hell you say
Just talk to me
Ask me how I'm doing
And tell me how your days been
Juet talk to meeeeeee
Just talk to me

I see you walking around
Your hand's in his
But I say I don't mind
Cause I don't want to see this..
****

Cause while you're talkin to him
You could be talking to me
But you don't care...
You're hanging off every word that he says

Hey please, lets just sit and chat
Yeah yeah, lets talk about your cat...
But you say no
I've found someone better to talk to
So lets just leave it at that

You can't tell
But my heart is breakin
Yeah yeah, my hands are shaking
I really wish that I was faking
But I'm not...
Cause you don't wanna talk to me

It’s Sunday morning, my watch shows that it’s 33° and 5:58 am. Surprisingly, half of us are up and motile. My excuse is that I’m scheduled to volunteer at the hospital this morning.

Leong just came up from the basement fitness center, she’s all sweaty. “I hate that metal music those giant guys in the weight room listen to.” Leong said, slipping her shoes off.

“That music makes me feel so hot, It has such energy.” Sunny shivers, slipping-into a sweater.

“I don’t understand old music.” Sophie said, spreading butter on a piece of hot toast.

“What does THAT mean?” - I had to ask - thinking she meant “classical music,” which I love.

Sophie explained, “My English professor played this old song for us - it’s old - “The times they are a changin”, by Bob Dylan? It’s an AMAZING song”

“You’ve never heard THAT?” I asked, dubiously, but slobber-knocked if it were true.

I never LISTEN to old music,” Sophie shrugged, “it sounds so flat and one dimensional - I can’t stand it,” she winces. “I like spatial audio, binaural and object-based dolby atmos, you know - lossless and three dimensional.”

“Don’t get technical with me,” I said, as if offended, while gathering my gear,

“But you watch Carol Bernett and all those old TV shows.” Lisa said, “What’s the difference?”

“Video?” Sophie argues, with an implied “HELLO,” as if that one word made everything obvious.

I missed the rest of it, my watch beeped, it was time to disco, I had stops.

I can’t deny Peter and I are sync’d these days. Have we fallen in love? Maybe, but I think we’re still upright. He doesn’t tease me about my fear of heights, bugs, the dark, and cheesecake - anymore. He overlooks my crying during movies, streams and pet-reunion videos. It’s reciprocal, of course, I let him hate salad dressing, ketchup (just odd) bananas and chocolate (can you imagine?), I let him help me with homework and I try to ignore his awful bro-act, around his bhessys.

I’m going to Peter’s to watch football, later, ‘cause I love my NFL. The doctoral guys have a notorious “mancave” situation setup in their basement where they red-zone, kaber, or blare shley emo-core at 120db. I flat told Peter that when my watch alerts to harrowing audio levels - I’m outro.

But between you and me, these guys make THE best BBQ (they slow smoke briskets or something). I’d probably just go upstairs, put on my noise-canceling AirPods, read (with the smart girls) and wait for the **** eats.

Monday’s Halloween - Happy Halloween everyone!