Sometimes, you must question's yourself.
About the things you do.
Sometimes when we speaking to fools.
Let alone an idoit.

Then you feel stupid.
So never talk to an idoit.
Cause you'll feel like a fool.
Never talk to a fool.
Cause you feel like an idoit.

Sometimes you must regret the kindness you show.
When others takes advantge of you.
Except sometimes you don't.
Cause those that does anyone wrong.
Will be the one needing you in the end.

It always happen.
Especially with so call friends.
Who will come back again?

The cop asked me for my license to which
I replied what the hell is that.
Officer Tillman  I belive i met your wife in a restroom
down at the laundrymat.
She didnt do ya justice.
Cause you arent  all that ugly
but you are kinda fat.

No my last name isnt Knoxville  but I
sure had some fun in Tennessee.
Met darlin that left a burnin feelin behind just for me.

My life is like a tweenty four hour cartoon.
A wreckless wonder.
If ya wanna ride along theres always room.

Gotta babydoll I often reffer to as Tinker.
She's my favorite semi insane funsize drinker.

Got a amigo or two.
Some fake ID's  cause some people just happen to be looking
for me.
I thought you already knew.

Some people like to hate.
Clive.  Forrest.  Ian.
Dont be jelouse your still living togather in the same basement
no hope ever having none inflatable
date.

Iv'e taken some pretty hard licks.
Put my mind in a blender .
Now all im left with is becon bits.
Im the  ******* of poetry alone I hold the crown.
Some might call me a village idoit.
But I would say im most fun fella in town.

And if ya read this work and still cant see.
You can go to hell.
And thats one thing apon me my imaginary friends
and my little badass tinker agree.

I'm not no fool.
I'm not no idoit.
In my mind.
I'm brillant.
So don't label me.
I'm not lazy.
I'm don't try to get over.
In my eyes.
I'm magnificent.
So don't label me.

Those that places tags upon others.
Are those that we describe as insecure.
Simply afraid of a challenge.

Even those with high I.Q hadn't created much.
Even tho' they loves to talk about their smarts.
And we label them.
Just don't label me.
Just be willing to be impress by what you see

Excuse me.
Don't accuse me.
And never try to use me.
For that would be too much to take.

As the French might say.
qui s' ex-cuse  s' ac-cuse.
In Enlish words of honesty.
He who excuses himself accuse himself.

The flim flam man play the game.
Of saying what she wants to hear.
And when she reeled in with his words.
That's when he disappears.

He that use.
Gets accused.
All because they the ones behind the abuse.

As  I would say.
A fool is born every day.
Except a fool doesn't let an idoit get away.
They realize there's a price to pay.

Feel sorry for that man.
Who loses a good woman.
For, he will see that she was the one that made him happy.
Not the hidden lover that came after her.

He might think she's grant.
But for the lost woman.
She was the one that molded him and nurtured him too.

The one that soothe your hurt.
Dealt with your attitude.
Really, all your changing moods.
That she knew the inner side of you.

Yes, feel sorry for the fool.
Cause he'll soon regret losing a good woman.


Feel sorry for the fool.
That loses a good woman.
While he see certain friends abandon him.
Cause of the woman they love.

Because some of his best friends.
Will never understand him.
And the good friends will try to advise him.

Whether he listen.
That's something else altogether.

For while he's sad.
The odds are great she will find someone better.

A fool can admit their mistakes.
But they refuse to do it.
Maybe it's pride that holds them back.
Or maybe it's the idoit , who see himself in the mirror.

Who are you fooling with your pretense?
Trying to be something that you're not.
Always trying to put up a good front.
Just trying to impress a few.

Guess what?
I clearly can see through you.
You as fake as a fifty dollar bill.
I get this six sense when I'm around you.
That falseness is your middle name.

And you wonder why?
I refuses to come around you many of times.
You're a fool.
You're a clown.
And soon will be exposed.
For the idoit that you are.

All because you have no heart.

I've fallen for you so many times I've lost count.
Everytime you call me girlie.
Everytime you brush my pinky because you want me to fill the empty space between your fingers.
When you call me an idoit for being overly romantic.
When you ask to see my wrist to ensure that there are no fresh wounds.
When you talk about how your perfect futrue would include me.
When you tilt your head and show that toothy grin I love so much.
I fall for you again.

I'm so tired of the insults
the hints too...
coming from the ones,
I want to believe in me
I wanna make proud

I'm so tired of being called stupid
called an idoit
told I'm a b**
ugly...

I'm tired of loving
people who insult my pride
but can't stop caring
can't stop thinking
my problems are small
theirs are bigger
I can hold this in
its my job.
no crying allowed ever
not even alone
but...

every word sets a scar a new
upon a broken heart
every teardrop from their eyes
kills me softly
every drop of blood from the smallest of wounds
destroys me

I keep trying to take everything
the pain
the sorrow
and leave only happiness
it burdens me so...
but for some reason
I love it
maybe because its grown on me.
and its fond of me now...
it does the one thing I've always wanted
it doesn't let me go without throwing a
prideful glance
my way.

it sort of breaks my heart, but at the same time... it sort of doesn't...
oh, i'm good in England...
only today i went for a haircut...
Vicky? Nicky? a proper bleached blonde bombshell...
- so those two hours alone must have been nice,
with your parents away on Jamaica?
- the best time of my life...
but i only had one problem... cooking for myself...
oh... no... not cooking per se...
but cooking for only one person... i find it incredibly
impossible to have to cook for only one person...
i cooked a mango curry... ended up eating it for
3 days...
oh my... she's doable... she's ******* doable...
she's all curves... all woman...
i came into the salon in my usual: Karl Lagerfeld attire...
i.e. wearing the same clothes...
with a baker boy cap... here for a hair-cut...
she started to **** herself up... put on extra lipstick
on... pulsating red...
i sat down in the chair before the mirror
and closed my eyes... we talked...
god... she's a plump blush of flesh... i'd do her...
sorry... i would... she might be in her mid-50s...
but i'd still would...
that's the thing... i later walked into a cafe
to buy a coffee... sure... 17? tight ***... petite...
but she cut me with eyes of a shy doe...
i don't do scared... shy...
i do longing... i'm more into that sort of sensation...
i must be an oddity among men...
young women don't really... don't really
pressure me with attractiveness that might
want me to stick... around...
n'ah... it's boring... the canvas is blank...
sure... it looks great on paper...
but our music tastes would be mismatched...
or our taste in books...
at 35 i'm looking... in the range of 35+ 35 - 55...
if there's a child? that's a bonus...
little Frankenstein monster experiment...
maybe we might learn German... Greek or Russian
together?
it just had to be necessary to not get rich...
to have a choice of young women...
my own age... that's better... or older...
i'm happy... burned by Jeminah...
even after giving her the wine,
the banana loaf, the flowers on Valentine's Day...
struck down on my last turn on my bicycle...
oh man... she burned me... but she shouldn't
have lied about me drinking on the job...
so much for dating alcoholics...
wait... i am an alcoholic... but i'm the sort that
puts out cigarette butts on his knuckles for scars:
i'd hate to get a tattoo...
someone who has punch-ups with his shadow
and ends up with a plum-hue mascara under
his eye... that's me...
i tried to reassure her: my grandmother was married
to my alcoholic grandfather...
it's not a sixth sense... you can't smell alcohol
no more than you can smell ****...
of a donkey: a mile away...
but you know how women are... when it comes
to drinking... those stomach cramps
and my faking of loving-up... well...
chances are... she might have thrown a knife at me...
or punched me... and men drink because?
the women are subservient Turkish galls?
in a society where men are men and women are women?
o.k., sure, she burned me...
i don't need to have my time wasted...
to the brothel i went... ah... she's not Khadījah...
the name of the first wife of the prophet Muhammad...
KHEDRA... well... lucky me... ****** Valentine's day...
wait... wait a minute...
are all these English trying to suppose i believe
they're these ******* nuns?
or are the nerves getting the better of them?
even if they are single mums?!
what, a, waste, of, time... i'm not waiting...
i'd rather get the full-on with a Turkish ******* than...
wait for these... ahem... "nuns"...
i'm not waiting... the bus has already left...
KHADRA... not KHEDRA... which means:
green... verdant... quick! quick!
what's green on the Turkish leash of the tongue?!
my eyes are green... coincidence?
what's the word for verdant?
i need to tell her that my irises are the colour
of her name... in Turkish... i hope the grammar is similar
and i don't come off as *******...
hey... if single mums can shun you...
young girls are in it for the gynocentric: whatever...
while the prostitutes are honest...
3 days of her sending my selfies...
today... a picture of her exposed torso... with an emoji
of open lips covering her belly-button
and an emoji of a kiss on her underwear...
if the prostitutes can be truly human...
why bother the rest of the women?

mind you... sort of funny... my hairdresser remarked
something on the lines... Aryan...
you look Aryan...
well... historically... there was this tribe of Iranians
that arrived on the platitudes of Poland...
they were known as the Sarmatians...
Poland was once known as Sarmatia... Sarmaci...
well... it's not an interracial slur...
it's more an intra-racial slur: Moskiewskie Gałgany...
Muscovite... hmm... what's? a 'gałgan'?
well... closest approximation is: bałwan...
snowman... funny, that... the Germans of
the mid 20th century pretended to be both Aryans
and... mythological Norse folk...
can't play two "etymological folk"...
the "Aryans" invaded former Aryan lands of the Sarmatians
to the east... ****** land...
if... an English girl in the 21st century describes
you as... having Aryan features...
you're getting credible information...
the Russians and the Ukrainians...
what? former Swedes...
                  sure... Кaцaпы... KATSAPY...
all intra-racial slurs... historical grievances...
i guess that slur was derived from the word:
PAJAC... clown...
  
now i have two songs deafening me...
dua lipa's love again
and mabel's tick tock...
   although... when i see her next...

now for that lesson in Turkish...
                   hey... there's not time to sort of shy away
from touching from kissing from *******
in general...
i'm no donkey... that English nun type can pretend
to be dangling a carrot in front of my face
until the point i go all cross-eyed...
i could... sort of simp-it-out, but...
n'ah... i'm going for the alternative...
and there's always an alternative...
next time i see her... and that'll be soon...
i don't listen to her music choice...
i want something spectacular...
it's 18 minute of pure bliss...
                Jordi Savall... el cant de la sibil-la...
catalunya... montserrat figueras...
la capella reial de catalunya...
why? she really doesn't have to talk during
*******... it's enough that her
onomatopoeias and ****** contortions are
apparent... i don't need "god" or god in
the bedroom, there is no need for words...
i don't need an instruction manual...
            i want to keep it as animal as possible...
vowels, vowels and consonants coupled...
but no instructions... no ***** talk...
i want the eyes to speak... in myths...
                       i'll get my way: i'm sure of it...

now, of course, it might not be the perfect Turkish
grammar...

sen dedim: inshallah...
Khadra... hangi en anlam: en Yeşil... Jannah...
sizin isim: renk benim iris... yeşil

you said: god willing...
Khadra... which... who am i fooling?
i'm trying to translate like an idoit...
   i don't even know the basics... of... Turkish...
bacl to sq. one... throw a bunch of nouns about...
green is yesheel... Khadra is a name given
to girls... the green grass of paradise...
oh... she's most certainly the green grass of paradise...
give me two more of these and i'll tell you
to stuff my former fancy of having 72 Alsatian shepherds
for company for all of eternity...

the western woman will not have a Monopoly
on my libido... to hell with it....
i've seen what canvases are already "taken care of it":
most? interracial: fat... ugly... seriously... ugly...
beached whale types... pink hair and... running
on steam... or whatever it is that they're running on...
i'm trying to think: orange juice?! please let it be
orange juice? no orange juice?! ****...
go figure... pink feminist hair...
i wouldn't touch that **** with a mile long stick...
i might get herpies... i'm pretty sure i wouldn't
get any with a *******...
oh, i know who's banking that ****'s worth of an
"account"... the African fresh off the boat...
the gene pool geniuses...
i would be forever barking up the wrong tree...
nature: harsh reality: as long as i get the right
sort of ****... Western women's arguments:
oh... but these women are being exploited...
are they? £120 an hour? i'm working ****** shifts as
a security guard... travel for 2 hours each way...
get paid for 5 hours...

i don't we're at a time to: bargain...
Western women are not that much... to think about:
or subsequently engage with...
mad dog ladies... Dubai prone...
sorry... there's only so much time you can waste
on pretending-it nuns...
i think i'll rephrase that: throw some nouns at
her like hieroglyphics... since i can't find the appropriate
conjunctions...

Interlude:
If only you knew how quickly part 2 became 3,
how easy it is to call it complete...
But I won't give you that satisfaction,
it's clearly not worth it.
Once foolish, but girls like you fuel my utensil.
Funny how the generations just so happen to follow suit.
Make no mistake I speak directly to you.
My pen never dances without thought,
even these very words are infused with your vision, are you so blind that you cannot see?
That is was you I cared for…
---
The Poem**:
An hour of contemplation wasted
How could something that held so much meaning to me,
mean absolutely nothing to you?
I guess you just don’t value these words as much as I’d hoped
Fair enough, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me
It stings as if I was iron branded as an idoit
But I’ll let it burn along with the bridges
Because no communication is need with someone who could careless
Although I will miss you
Thanks for your time,
Thanks for being the inspiration that developed these rhymes
Thanks for being another lesson,
Clear lady, thank you for proving to me an ending I had already foreseen.
I pray you be safe, I pray you be well
I pray that you at least try to smile through all the problems that dwell
Finally, I concede to this reality for I’ve wasted too many words
On one who finds no worth in them
But don’t get it twisted I don’t hate or dislike you
I’ve just realized that maybe I can’t help you…
Yours Truly,
James Desire