#wannabe
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
A Pasty Boy in Knee-Pantsies
Lectures on the Supremacy of Gun Ownership
Over Access to Baby Formula
You say our baby’s starving?
Don’t bother me with that
As long as I got me my gun
To rat-a-tat-tat!
May 14, 2022
May 14, 2022 at 10:57 PM UTC
I am writing.
I am writing some words.
I am writing some words that are meant to be heard.
They’re meant to be heard;
to be heard by a few.
A few will hear, including you.
What did you think, now that you’ve heard?
What do you think when you heard all the words?
..when you heard the words written to the few.
The few that did hear (that included you).
Apr 14, 2021
Apr 14, 2021 at 8:03 PM UTC
Livin like a wannabe.
Not that you want to be.
Always looking for that one opportunity.
But you'll never find it
cause you can't see:
if you work for someone else
you'll never be free.
Free to speak your mind.
Raise your voice.
Free to love.
Make a choice.
There's a whole world.
Make it yours.
See what's on the other side
of the door.
Mar 15, 2021
Mar 15, 2021 at 8:20 PM UTC
i wanna be a fairy girl
with see through wings
so thin and frail
that glitter and flutter
jingling like a bell
humming bird girl
small sweet sounds
drink the nectar
from the flowers
nymph in the woods, deer girl
tree girl, mermaid
with magic in my veins
i wanna be a goddess girl
bow down
the sea licking at my feet
i wanna be.
Jan 28, 2021
Jan 28, 2021 at 7:22 AM UTC
Everyone wants to be a revolutionary,
a hero, a martyr, or more.
Empty minds seeking an empty prize,
of fame and boundless glory.
Everyone wants to be a wiseman,
without searching for the wisdom.
Everyone wants to break free,
from their phony societal prison.
Everyone wants to be loaded,
without having to earn the dough.
A tax or two will surely do,
those ***** capitalists will eat crow!
Everyone wants to change the world,
without having to change themselves.
Everyone wants everything,
except to be ourselves.
Jun 30, 2020
Jun 30, 2020 at 1:16 PM UTC
Well somebody said
Cars are for strong men
You can't love your car
If you do not spend
Hours of attention
Stacks full of money
But I was born to love you
And you to make me happy
Calling for my attention
Calling for my love
As close as we could be
I saw note , sticked on
I wanna be the one with unbreakable field
Wanna be the one, simply by nature
I do wanna be the one
Knowing how to stop my heart
Car price is going high
******** right at me
I can't still believe
What it is doing to me
Im starting to tremble
I'm starting to care about
But Inside in my hearth
I know I'm not alright
May 11, 2019
May 11, 2019 at 11:19 AM UTC
What are we
but simple beings, wannabes
Every one a small piece
of the game, Reality™
We all live in conformity
social norms followed religiously
Until one dreamer dares to dream
steps away, breaks routine
gazes upward and flies free
Imagination is all we have
when this world is our lab
where we can be extraordinary
philosophers, never ordinary
Without these dreams
what are we
but simple beings, wannabes
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 6:49 PM UTC
I take my imaginary pen
I write down my anger
I close my eyes and count to ten
just to breathe a little longer
It's laughable really
when I see you justifying
Sure, you're all touchy-feely
only goodwill, so hard-trying
When you said that to me
where was your heart at?
Why calling me your better-half-to-be
when all you wanted was a shoulder pat?
Oh you, with your wonderful poetry,
oh, lies so beautifully written down
please just stop, you don't know no poverty
in your emerald sea everything you wanted me to believe is to drown
I never thought you would make me think
the worst of you instead
And I swear I could only stand and stare and shrink
when you didn't care to lose your head
Now you haunt me like the headless horseman
and you will forever
but I do not worry for my sanity, oh boy of thoughts turned cyan
I walked with ghosts before and a headless one is so less clever
And if you ever come back looking for this head of yours
Think twice, try a little bit harder wannabe
It might stick out of the sand at your emerald sea shores
Your love for me was never poetry
Jul 8, 2018
Jul 8, 2018 at 11:06 AM UTC
What is it like to be the moon?
To be asleep during the noon
To be awake during the night
Watching matters sleeping tight
What is it like to be the sun?
To watch the mothers scolding their son
To be one of the stars
To see matter living the day by far
What is it like to be a rose?
Hated by some, but loved by most
Pretty by eyes, pain to hold
Giving to matters when things got cold
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 7:08 PM UTC
the world is full
of wannabes
and has-beens..
no one lives
in the present
anymore.
[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ZDsCJ4rGD4]
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 4:44 AM UTC
The words rings in my ears
Printed across my forehead
My worst fear exposed
Right when I thought...
I thought...
Why do I keep thinking?
And hoping?
Trying to be
Trying
How many people think so?
Or rather
How many know?
These rips in my jeans
Don't change me
If only eyeliner did the trick
The loud music
Doesn't make me one of them
No matter how hard I try
But I guess everyone can see
See through this disguise
While overlooking what I want them to see
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 2:33 PM UTC
He's so perfect! He's a great guy to bring home,
He has a fast, expensive car, he works at a good job,
He's got his own backyard, a house all his own,
He's got a lot of "decent" connections,
He's always around to be a wisest leader,
Loves to take you down if you failed inspections,
He's just so perfect!
And so this is what "real love" is all about. How unrealistic.
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 2:06 AM UTC
At age 8 my teacher would ask me what I wanted to be when I grow up, so I told her a fashion model.
She laughed and wrote it on the board.
At age 9 I wanted to be a doctor along with half of my class.
At age 10 I wanted to be a teacher, they all told me it takes a lot of education and I would have to work hard in order to get there.
at age 11 I wanted to be an artist, they told me to pick something more realistic so I said a singer.
They said to stop playing games and choose a job.
at age 12 I was pretty hooked on the idea of a singer, so I sang
And I sang
And I sang
Until I believed that I was good enough to be famous.
at age 13 I was so confident about my singing
Until I heard their voices.
Most of the girls in my choir were reaching the high notes and their tones were so clear.
I gave up on that dream.
I knew I wouldn't be like them.
So I began poetry.
This was the year I wrote my first poem "nobody cares".
I showed it to a few really close friends and my sister.
They said it was really good, it got them emotionally and that was what I was aiming for.
At first the poem was about 2 pages long but I cut it shorter every time I showed it people because they told me what parts didn't make sense to them.
I took it as a way to improve my poem.
So then I started posting it on quotev, and tumblr, and now hellopoetry.
I wasn't expecting anybody to like it.
I continued poetry and now it comes to me so easily, I can write poems like I'm writing my own name.
at age 14 I told my teacher I wanted to be a poet and he told me that
"I needed to improve"
At age 14 I didn't know what I wanted to be.
Nothing was good enough
Nothing was realistic enough
Nobody gave me enough support to go with my dreams.
At age 14 I decided that I wanted multiple jobs.
I still haven't told anyone because I already know what they're going to say.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 10:08 PM UTC
I'm not a poet
I shouldn't claim the like
Because a poet would know more
About struggle and strife
While I myself lay my head on a bed
Some poets stay up all night
Driving home their nails
Into the coffin of conviction
How dare I say I'm impaled.
While others wrote beautifully on social issues or on love
I sit and stare at the wall
I churn out writings on things such as white struggles and heartache
I'll write about the same boy over and over again with a different ad lib.
I'll write about voices in minds I can't reach or begin to comprehend
So tell me how I'm a poet, again?
Because I can write a line and hit an enter key
I somehow think I'm a cool *** thing.
Nah man, I'm not a poet
I'm a wannabe
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 2:17 AM UTC
Once was a smug bug . . .
Fancied himself some poet,
. . . Prissy dung beetle.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 10:42 PM UTC
I'm a wannabe thief.
I want to steal things from you.
Like a sweater or a shirt.
A glance, a lighter, your glasses.
To steal a kiss would make me the happiest man on Earth.
But most of all I want to steal your heart...
and never let go.
But I'm just a wannabe.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 5:49 PM UTC
In order to dance to the beat of your drum
You must have a sense of rhythm.
There's no use in hitting the beats on occasion
Because you'll end up sounding the way everyone does.
Just like them.
In order to wear the clothes no one does
You must have a sense of style.
There's no use in clashing your patterns or prints
Because that's a fashion and so in the end you'll be
Just like them.
But there are only so many beats you can play
Only so many colours in the rainbow
There's no possible way you can be so different
Because you are doing the very thing that makes you the same.
You're trying so hard to be the person no one understands
The person who's a mystery, who's just so different
That in doing it you've only become
Just like them.
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 4:36 PM UTC
O how sods proclaim . . .
Where there should be so much shame,
. . . Mediocrity.
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
Gnat is mucky king!
Little lord thinks he matters,
. . . Buzzing above *****
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 11:43 PM UTC