The night stars twinkle like the spotlights I used to know
Clear and fresh the silent air stirs with wind
Pierced by struggles and cries of innocence
The rush of Justice kicks in
And the night is quiet again
The night is mine to seize as I choose
Through training and greif I sprouted wings
And in the night I soar
Like the Bat himself

At Notebooks end.
So we’re at this notebook’s end. The pages are full to bursting in there and to celebrate the ledger of poems and lyrics and half formed ideas I’m going to write down this freestyle of topics I haven’t discussed herein. Let’s begin with my senpai she knows who she is she picked the topics out that’s how special to me she is. She was the one who picked these topics out that’s how special to me she is. But I have to ask her finally to be mine because people like her come around once, maybe twice in a person’s lifetime.
Anyway let’s get into the real meat of this freestyle I think I’ll start with my room and its many strange residents that I acquired over the years via dumb luck gifts or just spending dead presidents. I have shorted out headphones that only seem to work with a binder clip two guitars and my grandpa gave me a bottle that contains a ship I have two vinyl pop figurines 1 of Batman and the original robin who later became Nightwing. A sewn pouch full of spare guitar picks additional sketchpads that are totally rad and an N64 console with a messed up controller and a lagging joystick. And last but not least I have on my Bed rest Del the Funky Sox Bear and his little brother Shawn Hawk aka MF.
Now that my room is covered let’s get into the nitty gritty about my hometown Chicago the second city. Warning to all tourists its pronounced S-E-A-R-S tower even though it’s spelled Willis. Anyway I was born and raised here like DJ quik and his hometown of Compton no offense to the man but in my city we have our own definition of Stomping. There just isn’t any city on earth that is quite like mine I have a lot of love for my home more than I can ever hope to fit into one rhyme.
Now onto two more topics that Echo picked out. Laughter and sound, Is it possible to accurately describe these two parts of life in a verse that’s been written down? God only knows because we’re going to find out. Laughter is life’s most potent medicine releasing endorphins that make us feel good all over. But as it can be medicine it can also be a poisonous mask because many people including myself over the years have used laughter to cover up the tears from a broken heart of glass. Speaking of laughter it’s a most wondrous sound emanating from humans occasionally rolling around on the ground. Sound technically speaking is vibrations that travel through the air that surrounds but for me its fuel to write my musings down.
Last but not least let’s address the blue sometimes cloudy and sunset blazed sky, now heights and I don’t really mix in just not that kind of guy. But on the back of a calm endearing Zephyr I would love to fly.

Dear Manic Pixie Dream Boy,

You’re weird.

You like to dance badly to Michael Jackson. The Beatles are your idols. You’re a miracle worker when it comes to procrastinating projects. You choose to be Murdoc over Nightwing any day. A phone is a necessity you chose to live without. A good-looking leather jacket is among one of the many things you’d want in life. You have a vintage camera collection and your house has ninja swords that no one really uses. You let others borrow your bikes, and are not afraid to punch someone who’s a threat…

… and that’s why I like you.

I like the way you accept my flaws. I like the way your curiosity takes over every inch of space you’re in. I like how it’s so easy to talk to you, no matter how mundane the questions are. I like how you don’t judge my preference for long, critical words. I like how you value opinions a lot, and think them through. I’ve asked for your help too many times to count, and you don’t show any signs of being tired about it. I don’t know if you notice the way your face lights up when you talk about the things you love, because it’s blindingly endearing. It’s precious that you have a checklist of things to do before you die. Each word that comes from your mouth seems so genuine and sincere.

I could go on and on about the little things that make me so enamored with you… but I know I’m not supposed to like you.

Labels are a possessive sign to you, while labels give a sense of stability for me. Your nocturnal ways and my early-bird persona will clash eventually. I like finishing things early, while you wait ’til the last minute. Disney doesn’t exactly mesh well with the Gorillaz. Your stubbornness and mine will be our downfall, despite the numerous petty debates we’ve had so far.

I’m still glad you’re my friend.

I mean, that’s what we are, right? Friends? I mean, friends sit on the curb of the street and listen to how each other’s days went, right? Friends stay up until the late hours of the morning to talk about life through audio calls, right? Friends go to the park in the middle of the night together without their parents knowing, right? Cute nicknames as we wish each other good night is a friend thing, right?

Right. I forgot. Labels are a possessive thing to you.

I’ll try to stop checking Facebook for every chance you’re online. I’ll try to make our talks less about personal things, because I think only my labeled “boyfriend” should know them. Forgive me for trying to keep my distance, because I’m sure that I’ll only fall harder the more I get to know you. You’re probably starting to get weirded out by my strict, depressed lifestyle, anyway.

I hope that one day you’d find The One who would change your life. As much as I’d like that to be me, I know it’ll be someone else.

Signed,

The Snooty Protagonist

Poems, bars: people, stars
Eyes lookin' Life on Mars
Boy wonder looks at mirror- Blackstar
Boy wonder looks at mirror- Blackstar
No time for jokers cause I keep it Nightwing
Fly 'til early morning, next day, coda, swinging
Pendulum, swift; please acknowledge the kid,
even though he skinny like Syd
What a future: even if it Odd
Grimace in my face like I'm General Zod
But I keep it Clark Kent with the moral sentiment
Merriment when I'm flying over all Metropolis
Heaven sent? God bless. Still stressed.
Still flex. Morning breath. Kinda fresh
I guess with your skin under your dress-
aaaaah, where was I again?
Are we having fun anymore?
Not really? We still friends?
I'm sorry we not talking anymore.

Sorry, who are you?

Voice to void to void the void
annoyed but buoyed by white noise
helps to take the fact that there no point
as given, what difference with man with boy

he toys with himself with eyes closed
eyes opened: it's the same, she broiled
and her breath fuzzed like... white noise
fizz-fizz, hiss-kiss.