trust that you can,
learn to be motivated
believe in your potential
and love to thrive.

Matrix vector analysis is easy
for a long time it will keep you busy.
To be honest,its like psychotherapy..
Cause it keeps your brain from other thoughts,
that would make you dizzy.
To be or not to be,thats not the matter.
Choosing the less bad,from your only bad options
should be your talend.
Your criteria should be logic and a planning list
That's what will assist.
And when you evetually start vectors liking,
congrats,
youre now a *******.

If I fail this test... well I don't know...
Perhaps I'll drop out of school and walk
Thousands of miles to start a new life
Where things are easy and nice and sweet
Like spoonfuls of sugar for mouth-bleeds.

Or maybe I'll tug my hoodie tight
And hibernate in my mobile cave,
Soundproof from the shuffling strangers there,
Because behind the walls of my mind
All I need are daydreams of springtime.

Or I might borrow a better brain
From a friend who knows a lot of things
Like how to laugh right or calculate
The speed as Train A, Train B collide.
Yeah, I think that plan would work out fine.

Unless... unless I manage to pass.
But that's just a silly thought to have.

The weird thing with boredom
Is that it always only occurs
When one has quite a lot
Of actual things things to do.

Like right now,
I am writing
Maybe getting a couple of likes
When I should be studying
So I don’t get a grade
That makes me go “Yikes!”

Like right now I feel deprived
Of things to do,
I think it’s cause one gets easily bored
With what’s right in front of you.

Scattered books and pens
A noose hanging from the roof
The ink running dry

Gather your books, your notebooks, your pages and pages
Barely legible Catholic school cursive, oil crusted papers
Coffee stains, cheese danish crumbs, ink marks on your thighs

Use your mother’s brain, your father’s tireless oxen energy
Your sister’s bravery, your grandmother’s mix of mango & tajin,
Your grandfather’s home grown guavas from the rooftop gardens
You come from a legacy, a star doesn’t explode in isolation

At my funeral play Jamila, play Nitty, NoName,
Rihanna, SZA, Mahlia, Kamaiyah, MIA, Nina,
Light a votive in the shape of Beyonce and baby Blue
Sing your blues, the chorus never sounded this good

Imagination
On the cusp of extinction.
Surreal dreams, tethered.
Creativity, withered.
Can't fly, so heavy.
Can't think, so clumsy
Can't contemplate, only can process
what we're being fed.
Our minds, concealed.
Can't think, shut up.
And keep running
like a dog playing fetch
or a hamster running
but getting nowhere.
Keep running
from what you've really got.

I miss those days

when I saw a fascinating shine,
even in a mere dime.
Or the beauty in a snake's eyes.
Whole civilizations in the clouds.
Tiny little monsters I used to draw.

Now, my mind is elsewhere,
pretending to be an intellectual,
it wanders from eccentric angles to factorials
and making its way through the Lissajous curves,
makes a perfect robotic locus.
Studying!

See.

It used to rhyme.
It used to question.
It used to weave poetry.

Now it does none of them.