"outgrow" poems
Gliding deftly along the city street
rolling quick and constantly
onward to some unknown scene,
some backward park in the nighttime
smoke curling from these
parted lips, moist and inviting
calling me somewhere I've never seen.
New day, new night
new feelings, rage in delight
fill me with your hilarious entropy,
knock my quarks into the next century,
will you please?
Now you're smoking the pipe and all at once you are free
between you and me, this smoke is thicker and sticks
like glue,
wispy and dreamy and the world spins and calls Toltec
telephone company can't pay me for all those calls collected
and rendered obsolete
Sun god dead as that silly calendar meme
Amaterasu,
and Imma tell you
these ladies in the picnic table
buried alive for boxed lunch and god's brunch
Jesus ******* Christ
and a indelible roster of good guys,
to which we all must strive to live and die
behind,
never moving forward
chasing our tails like a sick dog
under the jasmine runner between the decades-old tanbark
imported from overseas
dead trees
dead canine
and oh isn't it just divine?
You see it, pretty lady.
I can see it hiding behind your eyes
the things you don't tell the others because you're afraid
if they found out,
you'd be crucified.
Well honey I hate to inform,
With KGB efficiency that these love-a-dumbs
aint Methuselah,
they'll be dead!
long before your flood of tears tears me from the land
ballistas me across the great expanse to some strange Ararat
of the eastern seaboard,
or maybe wash me deep along the 80
into the desert sands and tiles
on a leaky cell phone screen
desperately trying to dial home on low battery,
realizing all this was one big deferred dream,
baking in the sun and shriveling
oh well, back to the grindstone-- all those lies plucked your nose,
gotta cut it back to size,
'else your soul it'll outgrow
Don't worry honey bee
It hasn't happened to me,
and We know with calcuable mathematical truth
that it'll never happen to you.
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 9:50 PM UTC
I always looked for a sense of belonging
A calling
Something I could claim as my own
I searched for something inside me
But never felt at home
And as people started to find themselves
I was stuck in a hole
Not knowing who I was
Searching long and hard
For my soul
People told me to be whoever I wanted
And I just wanted to be free
But this secret kept a hold on me
It latched on and wouldn't let go
And I knew I had to let it go
But this whole feeling of belonging
Stopped me in my tracks
I couldn't look back
See it turns out that I knew who I was
But I hoped along the way
It would change
I would hopefully outgrow these feelings
Even though deep down I knew they would stay the same
So my sense of belonging quickly went away
And I had to be ok with it
The sad thing is
I spent so much time pushing it away
Instead of smiling and being ok
So much time lost trying to find a new me
So much time lost trying to be free
Instead of living
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 10:05 PM UTC
I wear a double sided mask
so that I appear as desired
an yet I feel this feelings
with wich I cannot relate
because the mask is double sided
and it doesn't match
so I turn the volume louder than my thoughts
no sleep no more
and escape without end
these worlds, these people
they are better than this
than me
STOPSTOPSTOP these thoughts
I scream internally
why can't I be like the mask?
the double sided mask
it is better than this
than me
up the volume goes again
the base resonating in my ears
drowning the thoughts
numbing the feels
trimming the sleep
charging the escape
escape
escape is all I know
in the end
the volume
grew the thoughts
the thoughts of violence
to myself
to my surroundings
mentally
torturing myself
and killing my sleep
my sanity
my grades
grades
do I care anymore?
yes says the mask
the double sided mask
no says the voice
the dark voice in the back of my head
and i
I don't know
not anything
not
a
single
thing
I
I want to be myself
but who
is this self
I ask
as I look trough the mask
the doublde sided mask
to the wall
the wall i've built
the mask is uncomfortable
i've outgrown the mask
the double sided mask
once, the mask was my face
and my face was the mask
but my face started changing
while the mask kept staying
someday i'd outgrow the mask
that day
is long gone
but the mask
the double sided mask
the mask is familiar
the mask is consistent
the mask is desirable
but my face?
I ask the mask facing me
no lies the mask
the double sided mask
I know it's true
why else would I wear the mask?
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 4:41 PM UTC
*I was a dog, I was a plane, and then I became insane,
I blew my top, a volcano as a prop, and found out
There awaits a train. It took me places far and wide,
It showed me mountains, what's inside, It gave me
A place to go each year, and it left me Mad ness
Mayhem, and fear. I'll never outgrow my random poem,
Bit by tidbit you should be careful, I'll warn you of this
Only once, you shouldn't EVER read it all alone!
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 4:41 AM UTC
Let’s go way back
To a simpler time.
To our very first chapter:
The summer we were nine.
You were too cool,
And I was too shy.
You didn’t really like me,
Sometimes you made me cry.
It didn’t take long
To outgrow that phase.
We developed a bond
In what seemed like two days.
From hiking adventures
To countless sleepovers,
We conquered the world
And saved snapping turtles.
When times became tough,
You knew just what to say.
My pain was your pain,
You made things okay.
You knew my whole heart;
All the grief, all the joys.
We shared endless phone calls
and complained about boys.
Fast forward to now:
We’re on year twenty-two.
Some things may have changed
But our friendship stayed true.
We’re secure on our own
But we’re stronger together.
I thank God for you,
You’re my best friend forever.
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 5:20 PM UTC
Child, the current of your breath is six days long.
You lie, a small knuckle on my white bed;
lie, ****** like a snail, so small and strong
at my breast. Your lips are animals; you are fed
with love. At first hunger is not wrong.
The nurses nod their caps; you are shepherded
down starch halls with the other unnested throng
in wheeling baskets. You tip like a cup; your head
moving to my touch. You sense the way we belong.
But this is an institution bed.
You will not know me very long.
The doctors are enamel. They want to know
the facts. They guess about the man who left me,
some pendulum soul, going the way men go
and leave you full of child. But our case history
stays blank. All I did was let you grow.
Now we are here for all the ward to see.
They thought I was strange, although
I never spoke a word. I burst empty of you,
letting you see how the air is so.
The doctors chart the riddle they ask of me
and I turn my head away. I do not know.
Yours is the only face I recognize.
Bone at my bone, you drink my answers in.
Six times a day I prize
your need, the animals of your lips, your skin
growing warm and plump. I see your eyes
lifting their tents. They are blue stones, they begin
to outgrow their moss. You blink in surprise
and I wonder what you can see, my funny kin,
as you trouble my silence. I am a shelter of lies.
Should I learn to speak again, or hopeless in
such sanity will I touch some face I recognize?
Down the hall the baskets start back. My arms
fit you like a sleeve, they hold
catkins of your willows, the wild bee farms
of your nerves, each muscle and fold
of your first days. Your old man's face disarms
the nurses. But the doctors return to scold
me. I speak. It is you my silence harms.
I should have known; I should have told
them something to write down. My voice alarms
my throat. "Name of father-none." I hold
you and name you ******* in my arms.
And now that's that. There is nothing more
that I can say or lose.
Others have traded life before
and could not speak. I tighten to refuse
your owling eyes, my fragile visitor.
I touch your cheeks, like flowers. You bruise
against me. We unlearn. I am a shore
rocking off you. You break from me. I choose
your only way, my small inheritor
and hand you off, trembling the selves we lose.
Go child, who is my sin and nothing more.
4k
I want to run away so badly.
Just end it with everyone.
I'm burning from my own mistakes.
I hate the person I become when you are around.
The reality is that I've never ment anything to you.
Hopefulness has taking me into the realm of delusion.
What is right I see as left.
Your eternal love is really a three minute panting and moaning fest.
How could I be so blind.
Well in truth I was viewing it all and I just wouldn't let go.
I knew it was wrong but I just didn't care.
I apparently don't love myself at all.
If I did you would have seen nothing and I would have remained as Mother Teresa.
So long it's time to grow up and outgrow you.
Let my new roots be firm and pure.
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 3:53 AM UTC
887
We outgrow love, like other things
And put it in the Drawer—
Till it an Antique fashion shows—
Like Costumes Grandsires wore.
3.2k
Child, the current of your breath is six days long.
You lie, a small knuckle on my white bed;
lie, ****** like a snail, so small and strong
at my breast. Your lips are animals; you are fed
with love. At first hunger is not wrong.
The nurses nod their caps; you are shepherded
down starch halls with the other unnested throng
in wheeling baskets. You tip like a cup; your head
moving to my touch. You sense the way we belong.
But this is an institution bed.
You will not know me very long.
The doctors are enamel. They want to know
the facts. They guess about the man who left me,
some pendulum soul, going the way men go
and leave you full of child. But our case history
stays blank. All I did was let you grow.
Now we are here for all the ward to see.
They thought I was strange, although
I never spoke a word. I burst empty
of you, letting you learn how the air is so.
The doctors chart the riddle they ask of me
and I turn my head away. I do not know.
Yours is the only face I recognize.
Bone at my bone, you drink my answers in.
Six times a day I prize
your need, the animals of your lips, your skin
growing warm and plump. I see your eyes
lifting their tents. They are blue stones, they begin
to outgrow their moss. You blink in surprise
and I wonder what you can see, my funny kin,
as you trouble my silence. I am a shelter of lies.
Should I learn to speak again, or hopeless in
such sanity will I touch some face I recognize?
Down the hall the baskets start back. My arms
fit you like a sleeve, they hold
catkins of your willows, the wild bee farms
of your nerves, each muscle and fold
of your first days. Your old man's face disarms
the nurses. But the doctors return to scold
me. I speak. It is you my silence harms.
I should have known; I should have told
them something to write down. My voice alarms
my throat. "Name of father-none." I hold
you and name you ******* in my arms.
And now that's that. There is nothing more
that I can say or lose.
Others have traded life before
and could not speak. I tighten to refuse
your owling eyes, my fragile visitor.
I touch your cheeks, like flowers. You bruise
against me. We unlearn. I am a shore
rocking you off. You break from me. I choose
your only way, my small inheritor
and hand you off, trembling the selves we lose.
Go child, who is my sin and nothing more.
3.1k
Siri. Type this:
More memories. Less Facebook moments.
Let’s go back to concerts filled with lighters — warm seas of flame,
instead of stadiums filled with phones and waves of blue light that keeps us from sleeping at night.
Our phones, it looks like we’re all telling one big ghost story around the campfire — our faces lit up from underneath in the dark.
It’s like a part of our bodies, a mollusk’s shell,
That we won’t outgrow until it’s torn from us and we’re eaten, still fresh.
It’s like we call it Facetime because that’s what we need, but don’t have.
Since when is being viral a good thing?
Viral means an infectious disease.
Viral Viral Viral.
I feel like I need a ****** just to surf the web.
I honestly can’t have a conversation with a person
without toying at my phone anymore.
We post our beautiful stories on snapchat,
the colorful blurred days of our lives,
and let it slip away into the ether.
Your stories are still interesting even after 24 hours.
Seeing that red notification, knowing I’m special, I’m wanted, I’m special.
when it turns out to be another Farmville invite.
Talk about crutches. Nitze called religion a crutch but at least religion helps people walk. Phones make people run into things.
I wonder if the New Messiah will have a social media account.
We are so close to just hooking up our phones to traveling robot vehicles and navigating our world from our home.
The future’s hangouts will be phones arranged in a circle
on a table,
all on Facetime,
as we take shots,
in our rooms alone.
Jerry smiles because he isn’t wearing pants
but no one can tell.
Our phones only show what’s on top.
Please share this poem, by the way.
For videos of my reading my poems, visit https://mateilatte.wordpress.com/content/poetry/
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 4:23 PM UTC
Louder than Monsters
By: Calla Fuqua
I can’t unhear your ignorance, I can’t unsee your belligerence,
The potential difference you swore you’d make, and the carnivorous path
You chose to take.
You are louder than monsters.
Heaven must scare you and your desire to dissipate,
Your chance to incriminate, the problems you exacerbate,
I can’t articulate your need to intoxicate.
Your laughter is louder than monsters.
You fabricat your pity you pretend to give, as you wait for me to forgive,
That night I have to relive when I dream, of our short lived view of how happiness seemed.
Back then how could I have known that you were louder than monsters.
Your grip on me becomes tighter, the more your desire for me expires,
The more you secretly become a liar, and the more I ask myself why her?
Her voicemails are louder than monsters.
I end up on the floor, after you hit me and you swore,
You don’t say I love you anymore, the way you used to before,
And now I’m just your little ***** you pretend to love as if it’s a chore.
Your silence is louder than monsters.
I pray for you and the guilt you must feel, screaming out our window,
frantic to appeal, for the pain you caused solely so you could heal.
Your lies are louder than monsters.
You laugh when I say no, giving me a messed up world you pretend to know,
Now it’s my turn to outgrow you and your plateau, the one you promised
To let go. While I undergo the pain you overflow.
My screams are louder than monsters.
I still tell myself you love me after you throw your fists, holding tight to my wrists,
As I keep allowing the crimes you commit, to become imprints from the pain you inflict.
This pain is louder than monsters.
Now, nobody seems sincere, every scar is like a souvenir, You leave me speechless, when you sip your beer, like you didn’t just make my whole world disappear,
You say you are not louder than monsters.
All I can do now is reminisce, look back on moments like our first kiss,
Before you led me into this abyss, before I was unable to dismiss the thought,
“What kind of monster does this?”
Someone who doesn’t know he is louder than monsters.
I dream about the day I can throw out your ashtray, The day
I can cast away you whole, no more arms to control my body’s soul,
A day where I no longer have to be your wife,
A day where I can play a character in my own life.
A day where love is louder than monsters
Apr 15, 2019
Apr 15, 2019 at 2:01 PM UTC
This isn't your mother's dance.
The wooden clave
seduces the naive
into suave arms
of the night.
Quick quick slow
exalts wooden caderas
and untames silky locks.
Wrinkled hands
caress the caras
of clumsy coquetas.
In the name of the dance,
vestidos apretados
replace pants,
which men outgrow,
steeling blue eyes
in rusty miradas.
Mirandla.
*Mira la guera,
como se toca,
como se mueve,
comos se salta el vestido suyo.*
Mirandlo.
*Look at him,
how he touches me,
how he swings me,
how his feet mock me.*
Mirandnos
Ella me quiere.
We are JUST dancing.
Ayyy, como me pega.
We're close, but Salsa is intimate.
Oooh mami...
Does he think it's more than a dance?
quick quick slow,
quick quick slow,
quick quick slow,
quicK quiCK quICK qUICK QUICK...
...silence.
they shake hands,
and thank each other for the dance.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 3:23 PM UTC
The tree house, the swings, the memories
You built it, and you need to tear it down
To make way for a new pool deck
But by you tearing it down
You're just reassuring me of the fact
That my childhood has almost past
I remember so many times being up there
Sleeping up there
Doing homework
Swinging
Rolling around in sleeping bags
Laughing and enjoying life
I would rather it not go
I love its presence, always reminding me
That however old I get, there is always magic
There is some place to go and hide
Even if there are bees, I could still go up there and escape
I could sit, all bundled up in my Eskimo snow suit in winter
And witness the stillness of the new fallen snow
I whittled names into its support wood
So it would always remember
I guess I'm being selfish not wanting to share my own piece of childhood
But we all have that thing that we don't want to give up
Even if we outgrow it in a sense
But I will be happy in the sense that another child may climb up on the steps
Look out from the top and imagine they are the top of the world
For all the time that they can
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 8:23 PM UTC
He called me princess. I don't think much of it, let it slip my mind from time to time.
I'm fine with it.
Until today, when I watched a woman tell a little girl she wasn't one.
Talking about how her daddy shouldn't call her what she's not and her mama shouldn't be filling her head with words like, "You can be anything you want to."
Like, its not true and if you don't tell her now she'll never outgrow the idea of being
A princess.
And though Heaven forbid we dreams big,
I, was definitely a princess.
Princess Aleisia of the Beauties, a forest is my own back yard,
my castle was a tree I literally believed gnomes lived beneath: Alglenia.
An orphaned warrior; I was half gypsy, half native, half Neopian Light Faerie,
And though I clearly was not a princess who did math, I protected my subjects from monsters and evil that was constantly trying to overthrow good.
I could wield a Morning Star better than any boy on the block.
I had inner battles with myself, for I had the blood and horns of a dragon and it was always a challenge to be both Athena's apprentice and an aspiring sage because I thrived in the dark.
I was part demon like Inuyasha,
I was Sango,
I was Mononoke,
I was Mulan,
I was Pocahontas,
I was Bell AND the Beast,
I was Susan and Lucy,
I was Esmerelda, Anastasia
And that's still a big part of me.
Because, if someone had listed all the things I couldn't be while my knees were still to weak for me to stand and speak up for what I believed in, I probably would never have been a poet.
So excuse me for using the word "heroine" with the last ounce of innocence the world has yet to offer a little girl.
Pardon me for trying to learn to infuse grace and charm with strength and loyalty.
Now, imagine with me.
The places I used to play left in ruin. My castles disintegrating. The echo of my battle cries through the forests and fields and mountains have long since faded because the heir to my throne never took her place.
Deny her the right to grow out of her child hood?
Deny me the right to write?
This was never a career choice of mine,
This will always be a way of life.
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 4:45 PM UTC
In less than 4 hours,
I will be eighteen.
In the last year alone,
I have changed more than in the previous 16 years.
I have learnt that it is okay not to be okay,
that I do not always have to have an answer,
that it is okay to be vulnerable,
that nobody but yourself can make you happy,
that I can express myself without any sound,
that it is okay to lose some friends,
that it is okay to outgrow some other friends,
that I am not one fixed thing and it is okay to change,
that it is okay to be lost at times,
that I have to listen to my soul more than my fears,
and that I still have so much more to learn.
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 8:42 PM UTC
This is for the boys that don't get poems written about them.
The ones with bad acne and figurine collections.
Because one day you'll outgrow your acne
and a girl will find you charming instead of awkward.
And she'll want you to kiss her but you'll be too nervous.
But she'll be nervous too.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 3:12 AM UTC
Astral architecture hangs on the balance of my once fragile mind, now unbound and open to the potential of the Penrose Stairs that I climb. Infinity, I thought, was an innate idea man was not meant to understand, because if the universe is in fact infinite, into what does it expand?
Standing at the precipice of epiphany, teetering at the very cusp of clarity, it came to me in a monumental moment of sibylline singularity:
It expands into itself.
The thought was too profound to perceive, too ravenous to be satiated. Could this be at long last, the answer for which I have waited?
I realized that consciousness operates under a similar uniformity: the brain won't outgrow the head, but the mind will outgrow the body, and our echoes will radiate across the endlessness of existence, for all our forgotten frequencies are oblivious to the concept of distance.
We are all limitless beneath the veil of this perceived reality,
but only there are we human, and only then are we free.
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 10:27 PM UTC
All I can remember is that time in Wal-Mart
when your older sister came to me and asked:
“Is it true that Payton went to the ****** bin?”
I wonder where she heard that lie and how many
more were threaded among Honesdale locals,
weaved into their perceptions of my family--
their shoulders betrayed them when they turned
away as if we were the diseased ones rotting
inside-out--maybe we were, in a way--but at least
swallowing all this salt healed our wounds
faster than your actions would fade from memory.
I punched you the day I found out even as you
scoffed, laughed, you hadn’t ever taken me seriously.
At 17, I had learned not many people would--but
my revenge came after I moved three hours south,
when your father died of cancer, your best friend
crashed your mother’s car, your sister fled
all the way to England to escape the mistakes
eating at her shadow, and I got out of our hellish
town. You became rooted among manure, ***
holes too deep to outgrow--I’m sure you’re choking
on worms by now. And when I finally reach
the lofty sky, I’ll hold the sun between green hands.
I’ll hide its light and warmth from you.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 7:51 PM UTC
372
I know lives, I could miss
Without a Misery—
Others—whose instant’s wanting—
Would be Eternity—
The last—a scanty Number—
’Twould scarcely fill a Two—
The first—a Gnat’s Horizon
Could easily outgrow—
2.2k
... I'm not there to listen anymore?
... my touch fades away?
... You outgrow my clothes?
... there's no one's to talk to late at night?
... I stop texting You first?
... I stop answering Yours?
... I stop posting online?
... I stop liking other's posts?
... I log off, and never log back on?
... there is no ringing of the phone?
... there is no one picking up?
... all that is left, is memories?
Will You notice when i'm gone?
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 3:15 AM UTC
On the day you kissed another girl,
I booked us a hotel room for your birthday
because I wanted to make you happy.
On the day you kissed another girl,
I was excited to spend my night with you
because I had loved it the last seven nights.
On the day you kissed another girl,
You told me you had exciting things to tell me
because you had been hanging out with her.
On the day you kissed another girl,
You told me in the car, and it sounded nice
because she has problems getting close to people .
On the day you kissed another girl,
I told you it was okay but I didn’t say that I was
because I didn’t want to hold you back from doing what you wanted.
On the day you kissed another girl,
You asked me if I had more self confidence
because you chose me over a girl who you had a crush on.
On the day you kissed another girl,
I slept next to you but I didn’t sleep with you
because your kisses felt like jagged glass on salted lips.
On the day you kissed another girl,
I needed you to hold me when I was holding back
because I was worried you would outgrow my love.
On the day you kissed another girl,
I realized it was impossible to not love you
because you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
On the day you kissed another girl,
I was confident I had lost my best friend and it was all my fault
because I should have told you what was going through my mind.
On the day you kissed another girl,
My heart tore itself apart trying to build a wall
because you tore the old ones down when I let you in.
On the day you kissed another girl,
You couldn’t hear me crying beside you in bed
because I kept it choked up in my throat and held onto you.
I booked us a hotel room for your birthday
because I wanted to make you happy
On the day you kissed another girl.
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 5:19 PM UTC
Our adult selves are so cunning
Are they not?
They hide from the child inside us
And on occasion
Play hide and go seek
With them
In the most peculiar of ways
Taunting them almost with the
Promise that one day the baby
In their hearts will outgrow the
Adult on their surface
Placing hope in snow-globes
On high shelves with grown-up arms
So that the child, if it were to
To seek more than hide still
Could not reach it
And in its seeking would bang on the shelf
That the adult knew to not do
And the snow-globe would fall and crash
On the floor
Leaking out glittered blood
And broken crown-shaped pieces of glass
That only an adult is allowed to pick up.
Apr 2, 2012
Apr 2, 2012 at 10:20 PM UTC
My Senior English Research Paper Proposal:
I propose to talk about how society and school can affect the youth of America.
I propose to talk about how much we all don't want to talk about this.
How depression becomes common in teenagers and youth isn’t just an emotional problem- it’s societal one.
How we’re told to bury emotions, not to cry but to move on and play the game. But we only get so long before we realize it doesn’t mean anything.
Useless grades for a useless world.
Words that having no meaning besides the ones that we put behind them.
How we teach kids to be quick to laugh at the expense of others and take nothing serious because nothing matters- and how we do that without hesitation because everything matters.
How we bury everything so deep.
How that begins to hurt and overflow.
How we tell them it's all in their heads.
How they’ll outgrow it.
How we push kids to be older than they are.
How kids are shown limited paths in life when the world itself is limitless. It gives zero ***** about how we live.
How kids out of fear and loneliness turn on each other.
How we are all so desperately looking for a connection in this world but draw closer in because people are dangerous and loneliness is safe.
How we are all selfish and eventually lose the ones we love.
How love is a concept and construct warped so far that we can’t perceive it any more yet we all desparetly are told to seek it out.
How loneliness can ****
How the depression and suicide rates of kids sky rocket in high school because puberty hits and chemicals go wild and you wake up and see that you don’t have anyone who cares about you for you,
how your heroes are nothing more than **** ups like you,
and how there is no point to anything but work and death.
How the point was supposed to be communication and other people, but we washed that out of system.
Stay quiet in class rooms. No passing notes. Ignore your neighbor. Be afraid of everyone on the buses. Loners look cooler. No one really cares about you.
And how that can **** someone, those three simple words:
“No one cares.”
And how we laugh about things that aren't funny, how apathetic we become and how we try to pretend we’re okay with that because if we don’t we’ll look weak.
How we as a society have turned kindness and caring into weakness.
How ****** up we all are.
Let's talk about that.
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 12:29 AM UTC
Guidance.
Hm. Sounds like a fried trance,
Given bounds no reason why I can't,
Its your funeral, what if everything I say is a lie,
So cruel, ever stop to ask ' who's helpin' this guy '
When the truth is,
Some slackers sound so stupid,
Thinkin' David Caruso is Cupid,
How you say you speak intelligent,
When all my rhymes flow so elegant,
Then its time for you to know,
This lifestyle you'll outgrow,
Walk a mile in my shoes then we'll go toe-to-toe,
I'm the captain learn your position. Row.
So trapped in and era of transition so,
I'll pass you this, a lyrical miracle ,
Drop to your knees, its hysterical,
Those with soft hearts I'm sure your tears are full,
"Things are rough all over, Ponyboy."
So ill give you a little guidance, a ploy,
Along with a brittle and snide dance to annoy,
"Never settle without trust"
Followed to the letter you'll never bust,
Take heed only if listening is a must,
Oh so blistering to the touch,
And I know it wasn't much,
So take it with a grain of salt,
Else keep on the brain assault,
Crack a bottle of my main malt,
Down it before fighting this insane cult
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 5:27 PM UTC