I shouldn't show how heavy I cry,
biting my lip, to swallow spit.
The fourth shouting,
accidentally changing into fifth,
at the time my father was teaching
me how to drive.
So like a dog on a street,
with puppy eyes for those misfortunate.
A young man close to my age,
begging me for the little of my wage.
I guess I'm an open hand to all the
people I feed. But I closed my fist on
this memory of a brother calling me a b...
When I was told I don't know how
to really hustle, Wasting my
time on writing; a couple puns just to
make myself chuckle.
A lot of those I love, much
love to diss, to a point of all my faults.
I put it all together saying,
"I'm so sorry to disappoint"
At my age I should have moved out of
my parents house.
As I have/had this dream,
that only a few see and believe;
I've been working on it with every hustle
and every kind of scheme,
to impress you, and give you a grin,
As I can't smell your best intentions,
through the hustling giving me a nose bleed.
Everything feels so grim,
but even in graveyard shifts,
I try to reap what I sow.
But not everything you put out has
something for it to show. Not every
wish you bury has a chance to grow.
Twenty-two years,
wondering what I can show to peers.
I know they'll cheer my successes,
but never acknowledge the tears.
So I'll just pen down my tears,
of all twenty-two years.
