"moma" poems
~
*Holding court at the Zanzibar,
they looked on good nights
like Egyptian Queens, like Ancient Babylonians.
On not so good nights,
they resembled Brassaï's Moma Bijou -
"fugitives from Baudelaire's bad dreams",
and even then they looked magnificent.
Identity wasn't something you nailed
yourself into in late adolescence.
It was a trick of the light,
and if you were to avoid
burning yourself out,
then you simply let the flames
lick over you
and turned the ashes into kohl.*
~
Dec 30, 2021
Dec 30, 2021 at 11:47 AM UTC
it was the Cubist who created the space and color that
everywhere today assails our eyes
in uniform architecture and monotonous
design; the various branches of modern art
through tedious & exhaustive experiment
& research creating a massive cultural sinkhole
whose banal discoveries unveil for all the sameness
of form, line and color;
Quote from Gorky's 'Camouflage', 1942: I like the heat;
the tenderness; the edible; the lusciousness;
the song of a single person
in a bathtub full of water.
I like Ucello, Grunewald, Ingres,
the drawings and sketches for paintings
of Seurat and that man Pablo Picasso;
I measure all things by weight.
In text for MoMA, describing the 'Garden in Sochi' - series,
26 June 1942
I love Mougouch, Gorky's wife. What about papa Cézanne;
I like the wheat fields, the plow, the apricots,
those flirts of the sun. And bread above all.
My lever is the purple; About 194 feet away
from our house in Armenia on the road to the
spring my father had a little garden with
a few apple trees which had retired
from giving fruit;
this garden was identified as the _'Garden of Wish Fulfillment'_
often I had seen my mother and the other village women
exposing their naked bosoms, taking the soft,
dependable ******* in their hands &
rubbing them on the rocks; above all this
standing an enormous tree all bleached
under the sun, rain & cold, deprived of leaves.
This was the Holy Tree [quoted in 1942]
In text for MoMA, describing the 'Garden in Sochi' - series,
26 June 1942
I don't like that word 'finished'.
When something is finished,
that means it's dead, doesn't it?
I believe in everlastingness;
I never finish a painting – I just stop
working on it for a while.
I like painting because it's something
I can never come to the end of;
sometimes I paint a picture,
then I paint it all out. Sometimes
I'm working on fifteen or twenty
pictures at the same time; I do that
b/c I want to – b/c I change my
mind so often; The thing to do is
always to keep starting to paint;
never finishing the painting [quoted in 1948]
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 4:39 PM UTC
Why I’m not “All About that Bass”
So I’m in my car cruising down i-49
When I hear a song with a kickin-baseline
*I'm all about that bass,bout that bass no treble, i'm all about that bass
I'm bringing ***** back go ahead and tell them*
STOP
Excuse me?
When did ***** leave?
How did ***** get there?
Was ***** on vacation?
Where they at tho?
Yeah my moma she told me don’t worry about your size*
But not because in a patriarchal society I am valued for my ratio
Of hips to thighs as handle bars for my man to
“keep me grounded”
But because I was beautiful anyway
I am not the number sewn into society like the waistband of my jeans
I am the number of times I look into the mirror and say “hey ****
And if society is too lazy to know that beneath these eyes but above these hips
And behind this full chest theres a heart
Lets be real
Were not going to blame Meagan trainer
She probably didn’t even write this song
but why are we idolizing these who only look to sexulize the femaile body instead of holding us to
a higher standard
and just think
you are perfect, thank you pink
we can be stronger, thank you Kelly
And no matter what we are beautiful, thank you christina
Why aren't these the women we are idolizing?
Because according to hot 107.9 its all about the *****
I am not something you can put into a box something you can stereotype
Just because i have big thighs and a ***** to match doesn't mean i want it to be pointed out
or catcalled every chance there is.
my body your body everyones body is their own
and deserves to be treated like its own perfect stronger more beautiful self.
i am strong
i am perfect
i am beautiful
my hips don't belong to you
my ***** does not belong to you
i do not belong to you
And thats why im not all about that bass
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 9:26 AM UTC
_New York
after a trip to Mexico, & not finally explored_.
In 1991, shortly before he died,
Motherwell
remembered a "conspiracy of silence"
regarding Paalen´s innovative role in the genesis of Abstract Expressionism.
Upon return from Mexico, Motherwell
spent time developing his creative principle
based on automatism:
"what I realized was that Americans
potentially could paint like angels, but that there
was no effective creative principle around,
so that everybody
who liked modern art was copying it;
Gorky was copying Picasso;
******* was copying Picasso;
De Kooni
ng was copying Picasso;
I mean, I say this unqualifiedly,
I was painting French intimate pictures or whatever:
All we needed was a creative principle,
I mean something that would mobilize this capacity
to paint in a creative way, & that's what Europe
had that we
hadn't had;
we had always followed in their wake
& I thought of all the possibilities
| [ ], [ ]
of free association—because I also had
a psychoanalytic background
& I understood the implications of—let's just say it
might be the best chance
to really make something entirely
new which everybody agreed was the thing to do;"
Thus, in the early 1940s, Robert Motherwell
played a significant role in laying the foundations
for the new movement of
Abstract Expressionism (or the New York School):
"Matta wanted to start a revolution, m [a movement w/in
Surrealism].
He asked me to find some other
American artists that would help start a new movement;
it was then that Baziotes
& I went to see ******* & de Kooning
& Hofmann & Kamrowski & Busa & several other people;
& if we could come with something;
Peggy Guggenheim, who liked us said that she
would put on a show of this new business;
... so I went around explaining _the theory of automatism_
to everybody because _the only way_
that you could have a _move - - - ment_
was that it had some _common_
_principle_. It sort of all began that way."
In 1942 Motherwell began to exhibit
his work in New York and in 1944
he had his first one-man show at
Peggy Guggenheim’s _“Art of This Century”_ gallery;
that same year, the MoMA
was the first museum
purchase one of his works; From the mid-1940s,
Motherwell [ ], [ ]. ( )
became the leading spokesman
for _avant-garde art in America_;
his circle coming to include
William Baziotes,
David Hare, Barnett Newman, & Mark Rothko,
with whom he eventually started the Subjects of the Artist School (1948–49). In 1949 Motherwell divorced
Maria Emilia Ferreira y Moyeros and in 1950 he married Bettie
Little,
with whom he had two daughters
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 11:18 PM UTC
Revival of a revolutionary spirit
What I represent?
Dem single mother ******* children
Uneducated, unmotivated, and poverty stricken
Moma pay da rent, da car note, den broke, da game sumtm' slick
So I'm young BLACK and angry, real thug-life *****
Infested communities of drugs and guns thats brought in by the government
So before I move a pack o pull a trigga just tryna win
I'm already guilty, 'until proven innocent'
Ain't dat a *****
The days as slaves and Jim Crow's segregated ways have passed,
Dey sayin'
But I only see it disguised now as a 'color blind' racial caste system
Crooked politicians and sellouts oppressing dey own kin
In the 'pursuit of happiness'
They're privatising prisons for capital
Mass incarceration
How could another life be property?
With a loss of civil rights, even after release
Take it ha you wona
I'm anti-colonialism
Everywhere the 'Albino' go he **** the land and oppress the people
Oct 1, 2020
Oct 1, 2020 at 4:58 PM UTC
from "out the herd"
a spare youth
seeks the wild
in you
--------
"out there"
most people are in poverty
seeing DEATH
constantly
eye-to-eye
---------
the "fodder" is good in this part of town, pardner!
listen to MAMA GRIZZLY!
----------
we work so hard pretendin we arnt dyin all the time
-------------
the HERD is dissolving!
we are in the SLAUGHTER-HOUSE!
its time to escape!
---------
MOMA GRIZZLY is a brothel madam
and you her *** slave
----------
we have no leaders
just
cow punchers
driven us home
to death
------------
come from the herd
be wild
be free
----
you and death and me
Jan 15, 2011
Jan 15, 2011 at 11:03 AM UTC
Unsticking our young dimpled thighs from the leather seats
We swirl sodas, lemon bitter, in the back of your moma's old car with the fresh smell
Banging our shins into the metal girding of Coney Island's landmark Ferris wheel,
We were landmarks ourselves, clutching each other hard, squeals high in our throats
Caught there with the lemon soda and honey grains of covered peanuts
Salt Wind ruffled our hair and his name was Billy, he was ours for the summer
We danced with him sharp and gentle on our legs covered in girl fuzz
Isn't it just grand to have our taunts and jeers still rough in our bodies,
Still young and sweet enough to draw lines across each other's palms, and promise We are Sisters;
'Cause you know tomorrow, we'll forget it all.
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 10:00 PM UTC
The Fillmore
It’s cold these days,
just ask a stranger,
saw a show tonight at The Fillmore,
Dave Chapelle with John Mayer,
Dave mentioned the show,
when I saw him at The SF MOMA,
John signed my Frieda poetry book,
that I got today from The SF MOMA,
how am I so in the In Scene,
yet at the same time such a Goner,
come on we’re,
trying to make Greatness,
so there’s no time for the Procrastinators,
and all of their lateness,
got Volume 2,
of The HH Trilogy,
coming soon,
5/5/17,
thought I’d put you on notice,
I’ve noticed,
they’ve noticed me,
more than they used to,
before The Trilogies,
came back to America,
from a few months in Australia,
now I find when I go out,
people recognize me,
not sure when it happened,
when my works became bigger than me,
all I know is it happened,
now people approach me like they know me,
“Haven’t I seen you before?”,
that’s a common one,
I guess I’m somewhere between,
Famous as Fck,
and quasi-obsolete,
I’ll probably be,
gone but not forgotten,
pardon me,
I’m lost it happens often,
caught up in the moment,
high off life and coughin’,
in the light trying to focus,
off my head and on one,
God ****
God blessed,
on with the show,
and off with his head,
and that’s cold,
cold as a guillotine’s steel,
cold as Chicago in the winter,
when it’s 20˚ below before the wind chill,
for real,
it’s cold these days,
just ask a stranger,
saw a show tonight at The Fillmore,
Dave Chapelle with John Mayer,
Dave mentioned the show,
when I saw him at The SF MOMA,
John signed my Frieda poetry book,
that I got today from The SF MOMA,
how am I so in the In Scene,
yet at the same time such a Goner,
come on we’re,
trying to make Greatness,
so there’s no time for the Procrastinators,
and all of their lateness,
got Volume 2,
of The HH Trilogy,
coming soon,
5/5/17…
∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
author of multiple best selling poetry books and publisher of more poems than any other living poet.
∆
Jul 30, 2017
Jul 30, 2017 at 11:13 PM UTC
Hi there Moma
It's your one and only son
How are things in heaven
Are you having a lot of fun
All here is good Moma
Except I guess you know
We get a little sad sometime
Because you had to go
We think about you often
Well, really all the time
And how good things must be
Now that you are fine
Today's your birthday Moma
Are you going to celebrate
With Jesus and everyone
Did Grandma bake you a cake
I won't keep you long Moma
On this your special day
I just wanted to write
And tell you
Happy Birthday!
I wrote this in remembrance of my beautiful mother who now calls heaven home and Jesus her neighbor. I love you Moma as much today as I did when you were here. I cannot wait to see you.
This world was made a better place on Feb 21 1945 and then you left for that perfect place on June 27 2005
For 63 years your smile brought comfort to all who were blessed to have known you.
Love you Moma
Your number one son
Robbie Lee
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 7:25 AM UTC
I've always been one to stand and wave goodbye
When a loved one leaves my home
Stand and wave and watch till they are out of sight
It's just something I've always done
Like when mom and dad came to visit
I think it was in the spring
When the temperature was starting to warm
And the birds were beginning to sing
We would gather around the supper table
I'd get my Moma to laughing at me
Then she'd look outside and say "It's getting dark"
Then tell dad it's time to leave
I'd walk them both out to their car
Moma always had a few last words to say
I'd hug and kiss her tender cheek
Then I'd stand and wave as they drove away
I'd stand there and wave goodbye
Till mom and dad were out of sight
I only wish I could remember though
The date that marked that night
Moma always waved right back
Till in the distance behind she could no longer see
I waved goodbye see you soon
And Moma waved the same to me
That day I never thought that never again
Would Moma visit my home on a spring time day
I never knew that would be the last time I waved
Goodbye as they drove away
Moma if you can hear look down from heaven
See me as I wave
It's not a wave goodbye but see you soon
For I to am on my way.
RLB
Recalling the last time my mother came to my house to visit.
Someday we will never again wave goodbye.
Love you Moma .
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 7:22 AM UTC
200,000
200 K
200 thou
Reads as of today
I wrote of Orion
And silly sleigh rides
Wrote about hometowns
And passionate nights
****** damnable wars
And narcissistic politicians
Wrote sorrowful elegies
Extolled the human condition
Offered odes to loved ones
And critiqued the powerful
Celebrated the splendor of nature
And children most wonderful
Honked loud about jazz
And hot improvisation
Poked fun at the MoMA
Held deep blue introspection
We got many more reads
Than actual likes
I’m growing concerned
That I have more dislikes
But here is one more
Silly trite poem
I hope you like it
You can read it at home
Thanks for all your support….
Simon and Garfunkel
Poem on the Underground Wall
Love Mac…..
Oakland
5/23/16
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 12:58 PM UTC
negotiating modernity
at the MoMA
one's pushed along
mass conveyances
inertial rush an
intractable force
surer then the weight
of Newton's gravity
routes precarious
contemplative moments
nails scratching
Pollack's #9
in desperate attempt
to hold ground
Mall of America's
crushing crowds
vagrants pacing
the large garages
barely glimpsing
composite walls
the open spaces
bagging fast food art
not a bit of intimacy
in the **** place
Music Selection
Ornette Coleman
with Eric Dolphy
Free Jazz
2/24/11
NYC
jbm
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 8:41 AM UTC
If your moma told you it was all flowers
She was lying
There is so much bad
Its easy to succumb
And lose yourself
We all do sometimes
You must decide
Live it everyday
Pave your way
Because no-one else will
What do you want around you
Choose carefully
We only get so many
We have limited time
Use it wisely
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 3:27 AM UTC
There was a boy, blue drowned eyes with the horse hair rooted from the top then drooped in the face.
Hair so itchy and greasy,
It caused acne.
He was thin, sideways toothpick and collarbone shown.
Isn't his fault he doesn't like the taste of sour dough bread and tap water.
People at school abuse him.
They don't understand why he wears the mustard stained turtleneck every Tuesday,
There's no washing machine.
Socks are worn through every winter,
They start to soak and mildew.
His toes freeze up.
He clutches his stomach and bites his lip,
If anyone heard the grumble they'll wonder.
There are no games at his house, no swing, no back porch.
No carpet to rub on, no Christmas.
Instead,
He wears his flannel pajama pants that flood to the knee.
His mama and pop love him so much,
They squeeze into a home with one room.
The boy gets the room.
The boy's heart is as big as it'll ever get.
His compassion for dance,
His compassion for learning.
He may not have a penny in his holy pockets,
Or a brush for his knotted hair,
But with the support from moma and pop,
The boy can have sky blue eyes that don't drown.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 9:50 AM UTC
i told you thanksgiving was my favorite holiday when i forgot to give tradition something to prop itself up on i lost the code to your apartment and now i walk the two vertical and one horizontal blocks to your house and peek inside the mailbox for a security question and answer session.
have you considered sending a postcard from where you are now, or does the idea of you having an affair with the mailman stop your conscience from turning on snooze?
when my body is cremated and my lungs turn to dust who will stop me from sending extremely drunk texts while being extremely drunk?
try commissioning somebody to make a marble statue out of you. find out you were overcharged when it turns out to be just a huge clump of marshmallow fluff, when you're lactose intolerant, when your kids are gonna have it even better than you did and you had it really good.
you take your kids to MOMA,
and i wonder why we never had *** outside except for sometimes on your balcony under a quilt. i'm not upset about it because it'll be 2065 soon and outside will be obsolete and you and i will be something similar to the Byzantium period where we have to struggle to remember it existed.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 3:43 AM UTC
amidst cavorting delightfully, enjoying thorough
frolicking gingerly, foreign hick hating slo
hip-hopping insouciantly sustaining row
biological status quo
kvetching lamely moreso mother became pro
naturally physically rumbling,
heard all the way in Oslo
supposedly twerking, undulating vivaciously
wantonly x2c wisely yielded – nada no
zona pellucida anchored byte size ******
potent embryonic fetal moe
newlweds nocturnal merriment
moma's ****** marked march 1959
lovingly joyusly, insemination happened ha low
bullseye clenched diploid fertilization
guaranteed germinating heiress
while squaqking lichen Apache at Diablo
ma late mother did should know
upon awakening upon tautly stretched exertion
during dilating ****** which jiggled like jello
three score orbitz round el sol, warmed cockles
and muscled away brutally cold degrees
tab billed an igloo,
or circa six decades
drafted exuberant ho...ho...ho...
cuz, i.e. thencee at 362nd day
baby in belly did fully grow
December first nineteen fifty seven
sanctioned newly minted papa
to sing a capella for he's a jolly good fellow
quintessential nascent
kickstarter heady everflow
though wintry dark,
a “hi” beam illuminated
newborn girl with dayglow
sans, mechanical engine ear
papa (an honorably discharged army vet)
all spit and shine groom,
who wed a bride somewhat callow
first time parents with giddiness did saul fully bellow
Boyce and Harriet Harriet countenance
twas (like an elf on Christmas eve) all aglow.
--------------------------------------------------------
Dear Sis – I knew not what else to do
thus, this poem crafted fur ewe
a doe ting maternal gal – whose time on Earth flew
Nov 10, 2017
Nov 10, 2017 at 1:09 AM UTC
( ( (
•
) ) )
( you ? )
//////
The hermit in the cabin .... (?)
He just made 20 million dollars E trading on the stock market !
/: /
( pant pant pant pant )
••
••
The lovely earth moma hippie girl
Has been refigured as a
NEW AGE
HOTTIE CORPORATE ***** !
( pant pant pant pant )
••
••
AND LOOK !
Again we see !
THE BLACK BODY HANGIN FROM THE LYNCHIN TREE !
( **** **** **** pant pant )
••
••
IT'S A BRAND NEW WORLD !
//
As the shape - shifting alien invaders
Who have us all trapped in the MATRIX
like to say !
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 2:17 PM UTC
I don't know if you sat down next to each other in the metro
I don't know if you danced with no space between you two
I don't know if you kissed on top of the Rockefeller
I don't know if you gave her a letter too
I don't know if you held hands
Or if you took a cute picture at the MoMa
I don't know if she laid down next to you and touched you the way I did
I don't know if you kissed her goodbye too
I actually don't know what you two could have done because probably there's things you did that I can't imagine, all I know is what I wish I have done if I was there with you in New York
Aug 22, 2022
Aug 22, 2022 at 11:49 PM UTC
.
Lives mingle here
And love is born
•
•
( there is No love in isolation )
:: ::
we are the wholeness of creation
you are the embodiment of all there is
Carried in the heart of the people
:::
King and Queen
Breath by breath
Enter completely
And conquer death
//
( she took her wussy to the highway
Just like moma did ! )
--- she was a good kid ---
Looking for her MAN !
•
Then she came to the "marketplace "
Where lives mingle
And love is born
::
We are the wholeness of creation
//
We breath
We live and bring to life
Lives mingle
And love is born
//
We are life
We live we love and are loved
//
Those who " fell "
In love
Get up so slowly
From the ground
••
.
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 2:58 PM UTC
*I want to take you to an art museum,
but I'll spend the entire time looking
at you because you'll be the most
breathtaking thing in the room.
Once we're there I'll try and memorize
every curve and every line of your face
as if I were a sculptor and I was assigned
the lofty task of immortalizing your beauty.
I'll come home and dream about you-
your profile engrained into my memory,
and the image of your smile soft
and sweet enough to banish my nightmares.
I want to take you to an art museum,
and I want to hold your hand the whole time,
feeling your reaction to each piece before us
and letting it resonate within me.
Pick a painting that intrigues you and
we'll stand in front of it; I want to know
what about this art compels you
so that I may learn to do the same.
We'll stand quietly, together, side by side,
because this is a space where we can
share our silence- I want to be guided
only by the pull of your hands and eyes.
I want to take you to an art museum
because once we walk outside together,
I'll have fallen in love with you
and what more could I possibly want?*
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 1:43 AM UTC
I give up aleast for now or maybe for a couple more years
Is not that I'm jaded
Its just that im sick of ********
I give love to wrong person
Who i though they be their for me
What happend to forever and always
You keep twisting your words cause your nothing but a self righteous sacubus
And Im ashamed i hurt your feelings
Cause that don't make you a better person
I should of walked away when i saw the red flags
I was foolish thinking you where different
But your just a actress
You play a thr victim
And i see your situation
Is a karma
Just like your moma
And your sister
Is such a shame i let my self believe you where different but i know deep down your just no good for my heart
Things would of been good if i didn't fell in love .
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 11:56 PM UTC
What has the world become
when a projection
of a cat drinking milk
is labeled ART -
is of high enough importance to be thrown
into a museum,
next to Matisse no less!
We've lost our way when there are folks out there -
decent, intelligent people -
working on masterpieces
that will never see
the light
of day
because you
are stuck
reading my obnoxious dribble -
or staring at a room filled
with sand.
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 12:10 PM UTC
He skulks around late at night, all hollow
innocence to swallow, beast within burns
his fire - demonic Dorian Gray, an infinity
of void, reflecting through mirrors of lead
The blood is the lifeforce of the words, it flows
it's the rhythm that keeps on flowing, crimson --
Lifeforce within, flowing, like rivers in some
******* babylon, baby, pregnancy of the earth boom boom
vampire bite, what a fright, burned eyes boo boo --
trapped in this zoo, man - caged beast, man.
Every man is a caged beast, controlled and
tied up, flawed creature, bashing head against the bars
and poets? They are the most flawed of all, dreaming of
escape, no hope, scraping the claws against the wall.
Red crimson lifeforce flows, big bang bachelors
drinking in noir nights, feeling the fright of the
big girls against the ceilings, their dreaming lips
which siren lust and *** screaming in the night
siren. Bountiful **** *******
Sirens of *** burning in the night, hemp smoking in
the corner, drink more, smoke more, **** more, feel more -
red - red - red - red
blood / blood / blood
Give it in, keep it burning in your veins, through the heart
that brain, it needs something to keep on ticking
like the grandfather clock, tick tock tick tock
feed your **** red crimson moon, find a girl
treat her right, be tight with the devine
that feline moma won't wait around forever
so don't expect her too, just treat her right
be tight, and hold her in the night, out of sight
nebula dreams with your love, sozzled right.
Wasted and burnt by your eyes.
Seal her red within with your tears of divinity
and bleed for her too when you need to.
Red, like the colour of a rose,
or at least the bleeding of a moon.
Bada bing, bada boosh.
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 8:41 PM UTC
Hey you gal, com’ere
You notice seh, when word gone round,
And people affie frown
and deh look pon you.
Mi nah say nothing.
When word gone round,
And people affie frown,
And deh look pon me,
Why yeah fi see me?
You haunted or summthin?
Vanilla on cream,
Think she prettier then me,
You nah nothing
Hey goodie, with your white gal ‘air
Only thing you better dan me,
Is ******* that wood like a lolly lolly pop.
Why you affie be so bad mind
You have a sad mind,
Two tiny ***** knocking side to side,
Coming up to me, with ya smile in hand,
Yeah lie, yeah lie
Me nuh see you,
you affie be somebody fi see
Hey you gal,
you think your better then me?
With ya boyfriend
Who ya naw even see, see
Bringing home hickeys,
And deh gurls seh she nah even mean dem.
Hahahahahaha
Go **** back ya moma
Ya, luckier then me!!!
Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 3:55 PM UTC
^ ^ ^ ^
= ( ) =
= =
= O =
( )
( )
####
She sings !
///
Come come home
Mama is cryin cryin
Yep
That's what she sings
••
All the world's a stage
The name of the play ?
Guess that's up to you !
••
Me ?
I'm goin home to moma
( Caint take that cryin ! )
Take it from the top
Is what I say
•
Gotta find me some real people
Sick a just seein
This masquerade
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 2:03 PM UTC