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cfrizzy Sep 2020
Usually the underdog,
The weird -- the strange.
Unconventional in style,
But with an amazing range.
The distinction may be clear,
But he has already changed.

From the conformity to society,
To the death of Me.
To the tragic fate that awaits us,
Almost every single day.
We just try to fit in,
But who does that make us?
Just another one of them,
White-Collar with distrust.

Stories tell us to be different,
but in reality we shall halt.
The very thought of variety
Is to be taken with a grain of salt.

When it comes down to being true,
Just try to be you.
You won’t fail your own test,
Unless you catch the flu.
Sometimes it gets hard,
But trust me it gets better.
Play your own cards,
Just don’t be a setter.

In two years from now,
or maybe three.
Someone will ask you,
What’d you do with all that debris?
Tell them you left it,
Tell them wanted to be free.
And that now more than ever,
You can live peacefully.

As I said before,
Life can be tough.
But stand up and roar,
in that mighty Southpaw galore.
Ritz Writes Dec 2018
Hustle and Struggle;
The world may not know your pain
Chin up lil kid
The sweats on your brow won't go in vain.
Climbing the stairs of success bit by bit
Standing aloof in a crowd where I don't fit.
Sleepless night, exhaustion from the fights
Won't stop the chase
Till I become the best.
Never Back Down.
Stella Jul 2018
The wise woman bends a broken knee
Her ewer goes deep into the clear river
A shiver
From the cold fingertips to the snow of her hair
All tangled with voices and
  swallowed bits of oceans and
   muffled out cracks and
    internal bruising and
     the light that they give off
      the dreadlocks she will never part with.

She approaches the crowd that watches
Someone bathe in the cold waters.
She fills which cups are still upright
Nods at a ‘thank you’ or two
And wipes a tired eye
  as she fills her own with wine.
   Water’s to drink
     And youth is to behold.
Who decides what historical events adorn
textbooks students read,
     hence a starry notion born
grew up while

     this lumpenproletariat day dreaming,
     Asian aw shucks husky
     husbandry furrowed brow gritty farmer
     barnstorming across

     expansive fields of baby
     (barely) barley corn
crib bed crop 'pon harvest time,
     (an maize zing genre), especially
     when enriched with humus

     laden loamy muck cob bra,
     then aye delightfully
     trumpet from dehorn
of good 'n plenti kernel Sanders gave me

     saluting rank and file fool's capped
     fecund fashioned earthborn
dunce sing tassels,
     versus growing seasons gone by,

     when draught of ideas forlorn
despite futilely blowing on my flugelhorn
high and dry reap peat head paltry yield,
     asper when this strapping chap

     a sweaty backed greenhorn
pondering why agrarian laborious life of toil
     omitted as part and parcel of "newsworthy"
     posterity sagas deeming

     shenanigans of highborn
and/or "FAKE" headlines crowd inborn
noble folks,
     who grease palms of industrialists,

whose quaking self importance
     thwarts aside rural cosseted
     krummhorn grounded bumpkin mor'n
     how kapellmeister coaches bourgeoisie

helping determine
     zero absolute value of newborn
fated to slave away
     till body electric outworn,

yet paradigm shift of
     (butter late then ever)
     jiffy popcorn version
sown by seeds of Jethro Tull,

whose bonhomie with brio didst reborn
agricultural revolution took root,
     whence before long some did scorn
and lamented machinations

     ordered simple existence ripped and torn,
where antithetical views suppressed
     and unto revolutionaries
     became legion and well-worn.
river Apr 2018
Just because someone’s loves you
Doesn’t mean they believe in you

So go on little guy
Go get after it

Lets prove people wrong

But know yourself
Know your worth

Back’s to fences?
You best get going
Go on, Be bold brother!
Cocky, confident go **** it! You cocky ****
Go back to your circle of sinners

Don’t you dare try and take time from the talented ones life


It’s pretty easy to appoint
To not disappoint
When you’ve been dubbed such a loser

Here’s my stand ******* and **** this
I’m the man!
I make the magic!

I will prevail
I will no longer be pounded

Underdogs don’t always finish first
But we’ll **** well die doing it

So go on little guy
Lets go get em

Cause even with love little
Our hope is high
Cocky, confident and **** big chip on our shoulders
Sky Apr 2018
Seoul boy
nice kid, eighteen, from the East
took on the east side
and the west side

story goes,

his mother knew
"much dings"
and his father knew politics, so
"less dings"

his mother was a woman of
spoke of feminists,
spoke of progress,
read many books and
spoke goot engeulish,

"and your job?"
"No, that is your father question."


his father was a man that
ran for a lot and
stood for a lot and
looked far ahead and
above of his head but
never really

seem to
stop? Seoul boy thought,
of Times Square. Times Square.
everyday, out there
selling shirts that say
and umbrellas
when it rained.

(and yes, it rained
in the city of dreams)

soft-lookin' kid
hard cash,
best friends with the
homeless "trash", so-called.

"urban campers,"
"friendly locals!"
"fairly loco?"
"lotsa cOcO."


Seoul boy, working at a
Greenwich pharmacy

first-time paycheck
first-time real job
first-time AC
first-time man ask me


there, somewhere
out there.

your home.
my home? yeah.
no. wait what?

this is home
even gay man knew.
even homeless knew.

even Seoul boy knew.

"best place I am live,
'till die."

he said

"best place is
the New York City."

he said
Mystic Ink Plus Feb 2018
“Any future plan?”, she asked

I told,
“To grow, taller than the height
Heavier than the weight.”

“haha”, her surficial response

I was abstracting my dream.

She thought it is fun,
Nah ! it’s my life.

Let it be.
Theme: Writing is being.
Sarah Elizabeth Dec 2017
She sits on her bed wondering if she will ever get better.
Ever BE better.
She wonders if her choices and emotions are her fault
Or a product of something deeper.
She stares at herself in the mirror
and wonders
If her tired eyes were caused by the torrent of tears, or instead, if they were caused by life's tolls.
What she doesn't know,
Is that the only person who sees her in this way
Is herself.
Is only the underdog
To herself.
I was reading through old journals I wrote for creative writing and this was one of them. The prompt for the journal was "The underdog..."
Alien On Earth Nov 2017
i hate when people judge other people on the way they dance. like “*** *** is she doing, she can’t dance” she may not be able to dance but i bet she is having more fun than you, hater.

and to me she looks more beautiful than anyone in here cause she is free
3 years ago
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