Snitches, snitches get stitches  
They’ll say whatever it takes to get out of deep ditches  
They’ll talk about whoever they can and rat out  
It’s a blame game for them when they're trying to chase clout  
  
Snitches will sing like a canary up and down the scale  
They will tell the tale like their loyalty is up for sale  
They have no allegiance when it comes to their squad  
Blabbing on just about everyone and swear on God  
  
Snitches will leak their business without hesitation  
Then they’ll cover their own ***** to avoid incarceration  
But to the criminal element they'll be known as traitors  
Even if they participated, they’ll point out perpetrators  
  
Snitches run their mouths like it’s a hearty party cheer  
It’s as if squealing feels so appealing for everyone to hear  
They will play **** in the streets and try to act hard  
But might get what’s coming to them if they’re out in the yard  
  
Snitches, snitches get stitches when they talk too much  
Jumping in getting in and out of trouble like it’s double Dutch  
They can’t keep a secret when it comes to their crimes  
Spilling the beans in court because they’re afraid to do time

Love makes us do funny things
Like how we made a secret code so to speak.

Love also hurts
Like when you threw the diamond ring back at me.

Love makes me sick sometimes
Where I can't move and I can't scream,
All I do is silently weep.

Love ******* love
What a *******
Love ******* love
I think I want another hit at it.

Pass me the hot Cheetos
while we Netflix and chill

Order the pizza
while I get a refill

I'll choose the movie
And you pay the bill.

The prize, just keep your eye on the prize. The buzzer sounds as I stuff my face, not daring to lose this race. Hot dog after hot dog, I don't slow down. Victory is in my sight, there's no stopping me now. The buzzer dings, my hands held high in the air. I've won, completely fair and square.

though just a patchwork poem of different lines,
this sonnet shall begin my journal still.
it lacks in structure, not in rhythm or rhyme
and serve it's purpose i am sure it will.

"a journal?" you may say, and ask "what for?"
and i reply "i got bored on a plane"
my grandfather suggested that the lore
that university brings should be lain

within these pages, if i ever write
these out on paper which i may just do
once i return from durham and alight,
this metal bird that brings me there unto.

i don't recall how many lines to add,
though with this quad i think i shall be set
my future works will be more thought ahead,
and probably not from inside a jet.

all things considered, i quite like this poem,
and if my father asks, i'd surely show'im.

I used to sell rocks and scapegoats
to cosmonauts and government officials.
I made my way in geodes and NDAs.

Don't break it!
(The crystal or the non-disclosure)

There once was a captive giraffe,          
Who escaped from the city zoo,  
But with this newly found freedom,
He wasn’t quite sure what to do.

Bustle overwhelmed his senses,
‘Till he finally found some lawn,
But the trees were scarce and fragile,
With dried leaves barely hanging on.

Flooded with options and self-doubt,
He let out some ironic laughs,
And returned back to the same zoo,
Back with all the other giraffes.