"gigle" poems
I walk these streets
and hear the pitter patter of rain
paint the street
I throw on the beats
and get my audio on/
I Feel the rain wash down my neck
and a trickle goes down my spine
as the music travels up my spine
My eyes get bloodshot off of the Pine Smell of my bud in the air
I take a long drag and watch the cherry get really long
its a long walk but I have a shaggy stroll and keep in mind
that I'm baked listenin to Method Man while the music is in sychronization with
the view of a lighting striking. It blows my mind that I almost trip over a curb
and scuff up my Jordan Flights that have been ruined from being my most comfortable walking shoes. I look around and see a couple kids buying a 10 sack or 20 sack from a Somalian..... which isnt smart cuz" half the time that **** aint even weed"(quoting Thorogood from Half baked).
I gigle and think about what If I just yelled freeze what there reaction would be
but I just pass by and wave with my blunt in the air
Saluting the other *** heads out in these elements to get faded
May the Force be with you Young Jedi
Jedi Mind Tricks switch over onto my headphones
and I begin to think my blunt is a light saber
and im on some type of epic adventour....
But I'm only go to the grocery store for another wrap, a bottle of welches strawberry soda,and a nutty bar...
Muchies will take you the strangest places.
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 1:20 PM UTC
Hey !
what are you laughing at?
Are you laughing at that girl
With freezey hair,
Baggy, over sized clothes?
You're Giggling meanly from behind
Because of those?
Her ragged dress is all you can see,
Her messy hair is all you notice,
Can't u see the pain in her eyes?
No she's not fortunate like you
To get the love of her mother
Or be pampered by her father
You laugh at her dirty,hardened hands?
Yeah those are the same hands
she puts on her lips
And cry every night silently.
As silent as the moon above her head.
Although just 13,
the little girl is not fortunate like you
To run & complaint to anyone
When she's mercilessly beaten up
By those, supposed to take care of her.
She waits for the nights
To lay awake under the stars
and remember her past
Her father, her mother
Those happy days.
What happened to life?
Why her world turned upside down?
Why is she so helpless and feeble
In this ever known town?
With a dust storm in her heart
She wakes up.
Yet another day to cope.
But she has her will and her strong hope.
You think she's weird,
cz she doesn't gigle in small jokes?
Oh she doesn't find them funny.
They don't amuse her anymore.
What's more amusing than this life?
What's more laughable
than her will of still going on?
Walking miles after miles
With blisters in her feet,
Along the desserted street.
Wearing
An worn out, torn out, old muddy sandle.
Yeah go on. Laugh at that too.
You think she didn't hear what you said?
She might be thick skinned
But sister she's not deaf.
And she knows it's ok to be different.
Struck by untimely age
That old soul, although 13
But feels like she has seen a lot
Lived a hundred lives
And left them behind one by one.
Now she has learnt to let go.
She has taught herself to grow.
She's taught herself to live alone.
Not look for a helping hand
Or reside in a castle of sand.
Though she has none to speak to
About her grims
She writes them down
About All her hopes and all her dreams.
One day she'll
stand by her friend
Who was bullided in school for being a boy and still having long hair.
One day She'll stand up for her friend against unwanted stare.
She'll know,
No one should be subjected to torment.
Cz She knows it's ok to be different.
So go on.
Laugh and gigle at anyone you want.
Throw your hatred and your tont.
A bullie is all you'll ever see
While looking at the mirror.
And it'll make the poor little girl stronger.
Stronger than you can ever be.
Apr 25, 2019
Apr 25, 2019 at 7:25 AM UTC