No one ever gave me an inch
so to take my mile
I had to carve it out
myself out of blood and dust
and saline
No one would have said I was nice about it
I never felt I could be
lest I found myself picked up
and tossed like so much trash
So I was called bossy
Controlling
Fussy,
and mean.

What a self destructive cycle
they wove for me.

Obscurity is woven
           on our soles.
But when we
                    sleep,  
darkness's entombment
             enshrouds us all.

It takes one star to guide me,
            but a million
     to momentarily lose myself within.

It takes one star to dream upon,
          but a million
     to lose it within mirages of self.

It takes one star to go out that,
        but a million
   still glow, but I miss that one the most.

*"We each have a star we gaze upon,
               Let it always flicker for you,

The sting of my verses will sew the woeful indiscretions
of what got curb bounced on the beat or the worst vocals
that you rhymed incoherently that were
                                                     collected in lyrical a doggy bag.

I will not fall on a sword of those that ignore my verse
that fall on the page, do you know why I write in diverse
motions? Do you know my demons the voices that verse
inwards on the white of my skull? my reflections reverse.

The sting of my verses will sew the woeful indiscretions
of what got curb bounced on the beat or the worst vocals
that you rhymed incoherently that were
                                                     collected in lyrical a doggy bag.

But excrement can be rhymed in free verse, I'm doing this
for me but I don't linger to impress! I word for my emotions
are a hurricane and I'm the eye calm but I swim in the abyss.

The sting of my verses will sew the woeful indiscretions
of what got curb bounced on the beat or the worst vocals
that you rhymed incoherently that were
                                                     collected in lyrical a doggy bag.

I'm vocalized to those that don't sniff the arses of poor vocals
linger on excellence not the excrement of poorly woven yokels.
Lyrics of verse are meant to move not stagnate silently,
they are meant to be lyrics that move the emotion violently.

*"Weave the best version of you, not the diluted verse,

I collected the currency of my failings inserting voices  
into the deluge of my figurine dancing on the precipice
of my tainted visage.

But I was short of necessitates, fraudulent reimbursement
was reincorporated, and I was woven unwept as the distresses
of what I had done wove upon my silhouette.

Blank verses were woven on my pools of sky blue, now vacant
only snow flakes of nothingness fell on my perception.
I was not as before I was whole but concussed in creation.

Interwoven, incomplete essences of me. I wasn't that which
was reflected outwards, all that was now interlaced in an
abomination of false reflections and I paid the ultimate price.

It was a cradle of innocence
          defiled by your presence.

E
  m
     o
       t
         I
          o
            n

Became a web on my soul,
             The cradle of virtue a tattered
remnant of what was visited upon.

My heart was a silken gullibility, sewn into you.
               And you tied it to a block of distaste,
sinking below the waterline of my heart I drowned silently