As we all know
There are different kinds
Well meant
Trying to be helpful
Or
Just being plain rude

Some people don’t take
Any sort of criticism well
Good or bad
They ask for it
But don’t want to listen to it
They don’t want to believe it
So they fight it
And hurt you in the process
Make you feel guilty
Make you even more aware
Of what you say
And do
Knowing that people
Might be thinking harsh
Mean things
About you

I'm the irreverent boyscout you can't trust that's no help
Cowardice and gluttonous
But hell can I start a fire.
I don't listen, I'm not nice
purity I don't recognize.
I do my own thing,
I never courtesy.
Oh **** can I scream at wrongs.
I'm the grungy kind of disloyal,
You know the sin of the unclean.
My face is never cheerful
And I'm rude to everything.

sometimes,
reading your ten words,
is just what I needed,

You want to live in your own world,
want to hide your problems from your girl,
and living in fear that the truth will unfurl,
causing your anxiety to swell and swirl.

Well, let me tell you of your mistake,
thinking she can't tell when you fake
hoping she won't figure out what's at stake,
and all because you want her to have a break.

However sweet the gesture, she knows;
It's evident the moment your smile goes,
she feels your negative energy as it flows,
and she notices when you no longer glow.

Despite your efforts, you see her sad,
and at yourself, you become mad,
because you hoped that you had
kept from her, all things that are bad.

What you fail to realize
is that when you look into her eyes,
her feelings are yours; empathized,
and you shouldn't be so surprised.

What good does it do to try to hide?
Clearly she knows what you keep inside,
but now you got her wondering why
in her, you cannot confide.

What a blow to the heart that would be,
even though you only want her to be happy...

it feels awful knowing my baby
doesn't want to communicate with me...

When the world turns upside down
Because of a computer virus
Who ya gonna call?
The magical IT department.

On horses of cabled veins
They charge to vanquish
The evil that lurks inside
The internet.

White flags blowing in the breeze
Always on hand and
Well educated
But miserable in their own way.

How do you determine the worth of a man?

Is it measured in accordance with the dollars he's made,
The places he's been,
Or in the beds he's laid?

Does it correllate with the amounts of shoes he possesses,
The cars he drives,
Or the clothes in which he dresses?


To society these things may amount to much
But his worth is measured by the amounts of hearts that he's managed to touch

The people he's helped up when fallen down
The amount of smiles he's been able to transpire from a frown

A man's worth isn't a material thing,
It's an outward manifestation of the amount of joy that he brings