'Today, The Jay...'*

I open my eyes to see its a new day.
Today, What's the day?
Is it Saturday or Sunday?
The only thing of which I'm certain
Is that its not a weekday.

So, What can I do today?
Without delay,
The first thing I do is get my tray
Light a blunt to take the pain away.
Inhale and exhale,
Through the passageways.
Chill. . . Then, light another, just because its today.
I'm still in bed, but it's already a good day.

I push the sheets and pillows out the way
Then I get up to empty last night's fluids away.
Then to the kitchen, wondering what I can eat today
What can I do, to keep the hunger at bay?
Maybe some rice and filet?
A little something to kickstart the day.

While the food preps, I go back to my tray.
I smile and giggle as I sculpt my one true love, the Jay
With me at any time, anywhere, in any form, on any day.
Even though I'm already high; 'Hooray'.
I still want another hit of the Jay

The Jay,
Hits, Without delay.
Stays,
When everyone goes away.
Fades,
All the pain away.

My worries, It allays.
My happiness, it brings to the fray.
Keeps my mind, from going astray.
Literally, takes my breath away.

Causes, no form of decay
Keeps me, from getting 'ire'
Doesn't negotiate, doesn't parlay.
Just good vibes, all the way.

The love of the Jay;
Isn't just a single foray.
Its a constant exchange,
Everyday.

It's a feeling, that once attained,
Nothing, will ever take its place.
And there goes the tale of my day,
Spent with my true love, the Jay.

Leaves crackle as she slowly steps
She enters the glade, her magic she preps
She listens for the sound, first soft then strong,
This music is the Faerie Song

A smile creeps onto her face
As she observes the spider weaving her lace
This creature trims the gowns of Dryads
The velvity green of summer they add

The wind blows and they bow their respect
Their rustling applause goes unchecked
She pauses by one revered, acient tree's heath
And pats the small fawn resting beneath

On she glides, though the mists of twighlight
For ahead she sees a scene so bright
Dancing 'round an enchanted flame
Are the Faerie people, frolicking without shame

She steps into the light and all goes still
She throws back her hood that kept out the chill
The Fair Folk all bow as their clothes they brush clean,
"Welcome home, Fair Lady, our own gentle Queen!"

I don't have a problem with
hipsters, goths, jocks,
skaters, rockers, preps,
farmers, plumbers, executives,
Blacks, Hispanics, Asians, Caucasians,
gays, furries, bronies,
foodies, junkies, abstainers,
republicans, democrats,
atheists, monotheists, polytheists,
etc.

People are people.
So, why begrudge them that?

I do, however, have a problem with mean, hateful people
who's greatest joy comes in a form of shadenfreude.

Be who you are,
but don't impose your self-image onto others;
impose others onto your Self with a healthy dose of salt.
You may learn a thing or two.

Live and let live.

i wish it was 1963
black and white tv
cold milk in a bottle
and none of this

i wouldn’t miss
any of this

still, there would be
your cliques, greasers and
preps

rich kids would get the ***,
the cars, the better ****

the poor will always be in
need of things

doesn’t matter the year

even broke,
that cold milk
in a bottle would
be there in the
morning

i wouldn’t miss
any of this

Her anxious legs, her body feels the absence of the last smoke, the last snort.

She preps her shot thinking it will be boss but down the drain she goes.

She'll fight her mind, her body, her spirit, but doesn't know which way to go.

So her body decides, as she's screaming in her mind, let me go, let me go!

She preps the needle with the spoon as her priorities are left in the dust.

Everything ice cold but not that hole in her arm, it's slowly trickling out blood.

Seconds bring instant comfort, relieving her restless body and anxious mind.

She cannot bear the withdrawals that come along dragging her behind.

A sharp spear laced in poison detracting delicate skin to bruises and scars.

Unit, by unit, her shot dissipates and every inch of her eagerly awaits to embrace the rush of the high.

As time slips by, the high subsides and she is dry, all insecurities exposed in bare sight.

Panic..on the search..broke..fiending..stealing..robbing..lost loved ones..manipulation..broken promises..

The curse gets worse. It's meaningless synthetic comfort, the happy juice she can never refuse fills her receptors, a matching piece to fit the puzzle

The feeling can't be beat, a silent stream reminding her in her dreams creeping into the sunrise bursting with a desperate scream.

Worry and panic demands her full focus and the lies and deceit don't stop until fear of not having money has subsided. Begging and crying, playing the victim with no rest until she got her fix.

She's not happy, she feels dead. Synthetic pleasure breeds depression, and she's cannot function on her own, she disregards her responsibilities and continues to fail

Her presence overdue, regularly absent she won't pass, she'll miss out on every opportunity or simply won't care for consequences.

Dope is her only interest, where she pours all her energy and effort, she even proposed to forever be a servant, for what she loves most.

So much aggressive energy to remain living, guilt-tripping her lover into enabling her, she get's what she wants.

Time and time again until she drains his resources, with nothing left to give, he starves.

Confusion blocks her judgment as she believes the sickness is out to get her, but she has exhausted her funds too, tired of depending on her dope dictator, wishing to be free from the physical and psychological deterioration.

Her best friend ****** left her for dead, locked her in a cage kicking and screaming.

How much do you really love me?? Fight for me and score some more the funds to feed the fire, exhausted, not a dollar to my name.

Validate me, i'm what you need. I'll give you hugs and kisses, dreams of the childhood you never had.

Leave it all in the past because i'm the high that leaves you in a fragile state, mistake by mistake it's the price you will pay.

Near and far, nodding in and out, constantly chasing the dragon. Familiar pleasure filling the lungs provides the sense of stability blocking out pain and discomfort.

Oblivious to the vicious demise quietly poisoning your body, draining your youth as your life is dictated where the abstinence of dope exaggerates the sickness that overruns as you lose control of your life and question your purpose.

Losing touch with reality, addiction becomes erratic-out of control. You don't recognize the face in the mirror anymore, a slave to an demanding lifestyle draining you from the inside out.

Not sure your reason to keep living, hoping one day you can beat your disease never looking back. The day came, you're tired, you've given up, you need out. Looking back, you've accomplished not a single thing.

Only getting older with more expectations, forced to revaluate your progress, found out to be limited to none. You're so done.

Running with open arms into recovery is the only chance you'll succeed, and to breed your goals and dreams you need to believe. To put in your effort and defeat the beast thats waiting for the chance you slip up and bleed.

Take one day at a time, this is a must, far from simple , but you need to trust.

In yourself, a higher power, an inspiration, will be the motivation to reclaim your life back, claim true happiness, and become the best version of yourself

2014, a year where 90s and late 80s babies are happy hyper turnt up not turnt down are swaggerific vs Brillitelegerent. Everyday we live is a commercial Just because we see many commercials Young fly and flashy is what we all want to be but what about those that just want to be "young wild and free"

Free to speak, free to act, free to stand, free to move, free to sing, free to dance, free to read, free to eat and more importantly free to choose how and what we want things to be like Females: I see we got swag of soul urban sophisticated finesse then theres those of us who are preps that are chic may be geeks. Lastly the girls that love to twerk alot plus cover themselves in thick make up and hair dye or is it a weave or a bob (Bob)

They say we sweet cuz we got that "bubblegum" question is what is your flavor something like K Michelle? Nicki Minaj? Rihanna? Miley Cyrus? In that case so do we all skirts and crop tops and bikinis and short shorts or is it galaxy leggings or perhaps jeggings.

Fellas they say you are pimps and players dons and brothas that be like "Forget the haters" they say you are cool with swagger as Kesha said something like that Nick Jagger. Urban dominance, fitteds and suits glasses and high fades what about those high grades Yasssss my brotha ooh I cant forget about those gorgeous dread heads now Ayeeee

Alright I mentioned alot about the guys but which are you...chris brown? Drake? That boy Meek milli or Justin Beiber well whichever it is Ladies and Gentlemen Just remember your place and Destination our Generation peace

yellow, fellow
some colors make me happy
bananas are yellow,
rich in potassium
yellow, fellow
maybe my second favorite, currently
#ffed67
#ffe345
#ffef39
#fff200
graceful like a duck
a taxi in a rainy urban area
the morning omelette
the sponge of my childhood, soaking up my happiness
the sun that grants me some radiance
cheese
            cheese
                        cheese
the corn of the country side, butter n' all

like highlighter on PSSA preps, third grade
"it all must be important"
daffodil, nostalgia
mac n' cheese
                        mac n' cheese
                                                mac n' cheese
banana peppers
                        yellow buttons
the school bus that takes me away
yellow duckie
          daisies
french fry
              juicy fruit
phone book
        raincoat
      yellow, my fellow

Whispering her smile
Looking beatific,
Looking arousingly terrific,
Uninvited but invitingly,
Place my pointer finger
Upon her breast, ******* already attentive,
*****,  she preps to dance and to
Leave me

Bid her despedida,
For my adieu is tinged
With desperation internal raging,
For tantalizing, J'accuse,
Guilty as charged

My tango muse,
Off to dance in dives,
Where all the men are
Strangers, who paid in cash,
With creased and stained $20 bills,
To soil themselves, to dance with my woman,
Paid far in advance.

For consorting with the enemy,
I renounce her not, but guilty charged,
For mesmerizing, J'accuse,
Guilty as charged

She'll return, after three,
Undress before me,
Purportedly sleeping,
Pointedly, slowly, knowingly,
To insure I scent the sweat
That tango demands,
The ****** side effects,
The Argentines invented,
Accoutrement rituals,
Excuses to invent dance,
In order to pleasure intensity,
For teasing w/o mercy, J'accuse,
Guilty as charged

She chambers her body bullet,
Sliding in unrobed,
For a negligee would be
Negligent in her condition,
Laughing at my pretend closed eyes,
She whispers,:

I return here, to you
For one reason alone
Despite soul and body, exhilarated,
While gone, you have been composing
About me without permission,
Of  this, of thee,
J'accuse!

I know you have penned
Poem,
Which long after the dance thrill has chilled,
Will belong to me forever,
I will kiss you now so I may taste the
Words  that are mine, until next week,
When I will be guilty again
Of charging your imagination

Sometimes the best
Things in life hurt the most
That breakup the one
That made you torn up inside
It was for the best
They didn't deserve you
Be free stay beautiful
I still love you
All the cheaters and beaters
Preps and posers
It’s not worth it
Live you life
Love don't die
Speak the truth
Its all for you
Night and day
Spent trying not
To throw it all away
You're my light from a
Light bulb breaks sometimes

we are connected,
it may not be blood
but there is something
it draws us together
closer than ever
we talked everyday,
for the age difference didn't bother us

until the day you graduated
and went away to dartmouth
leaving me alone, in high school
with the stereotypical preps

i miss you everyday
with all my heart
those texts don't compare
to those moments we shared that year

i will never forget what we had
late night snapchats
and procrastination tacos
i miss you everyday.

I live in a world of
gentle manipulative hands
and fingertips
my world is made up of
bodies curled around instruments
passionate notes
meticulously planned stories
and eccentric details
my world revolves around
the subtle nuances
and lush touches of vibrato
this world I live in
is marked
with fingerprints
covering the walls and floors
limbs and breathes
eyes and preps
blood and the air we breathe
this world I am apart of
is unlike any other
it lives and breathes
it speaks and moves
it vibrates through my bones
and says
home
passion fills the air
and ground beneath my feet
creativity runs freely
and thoughts are expanded upon
changed and made better
and with each piece
comes a new fingerprint
a new voice
and a new partner in crime
the family grows
and so does our world
welcoming the initiates with open arms
and loving lullabies
and when the stars come out
you can hear the chanting of the bass
the lilting violin
and the vibrating presence of the cello
the viola and piano
adding their voices to the mix
creating one multifaceted voice of liquid honey

I'm just a representation of expression, feeling
so unexpressed. The presentation; outlines me
as part of the Depressed.

A manifest; label me an outcast. In a commonplace;
so void of it's heart. Commonly known as the ones
not meant to last.

But I trumpet truths; indulging in those lost souls.
To voice the voiceless, speaking of their all.

All of your worth.

Trampled down by the world's self doubt, it tells
me; 'you can't and will fail to do.'
While I'm only trying to figure a lot of things out.

Casting out two ears; to be in an empty silence,
letting this world try it's all to speak.
Being part of a world's mountainous worries,
forcing any to they peak.

My past mistakes and all missteps, are senseless in
the troubles of all the days long gone.
Even when I had all the necessary preps.

Life wasn't painted to always make a lot of sense.

But let me voice all the depressed. To those now
gone silent; without their freedom to be expressed.

We're just all the Depressed.

Long ago, way back when,
I was teaching five year olds then,
The funniest things happen to me,
One day I had different coloured shoes, you see,
One brown, one blue, gross, prithee,
Preps said very loudly to me,
"You're the silliest teacher we've ever seen."
So much for teaching them literacy,
The joke was on me, quite definitely,
Still, I guess I can survive anything,
It's called my worst day of teaching.......

Yea its mr leatherface
Puttin' fools back into place
Where they belong
Let the bells ring and hell sing
****** mo
Comin' to all my foes never been a **
Only roll with the show
Im talkin' guns galore and much gore
Jackin' my shot gun
To give out more
Aint no blessin' when thugs ride testin'
Puttin' these fools to shame
When i ignite my flame
Bless the 40oz ya see me puffin'
Them green leaves
But if im POD'd dont push me
Ya might bring out the killer in me
Stay strapped Eazy believe me
I know ya aint dead
Just in another dimension need i mention
For the game you done shined on me
Killers wanna be us
But dont know ****** mo been
Rolling with us
Since ninety four *******
Givin' up for them foos stalkin' gats n takin' bats
Bomb mr police from his back
Yall dont wanna jump or else get stomped
On like a roach waitin' for Satan
OUIJA cursed me since played the game
Me never no surrender
Killer drug dealer cap pealer the realer
The pain the mo energy feeds my brain
Uh im spawn hittin ya with the necroplasm
Glowin' from my eyes no saprize
Catch the tequila sunrise
Then i camouflage
Cuz a nigguh on the run with my shot gun
Blast up in yo assputtin'
All specs on they *** quick as the flash
Bomb cant dodge that bullet that hitcha
Mr ripsta linked the mad instka
Pen and my pad aint ******* ****
We live by it
The sword that is n if you got grown kids
Betta watch yyo step as the lord preps
My order quick to slaughter
Those who aint down soon to drown
With this **** sound
And even if ya doubt my skill
Ill come back harder slam ya
Like O neal and with that Heat
It'll make ya feel
Dumb numb o **** that fool don't wont none
Drenchin' in sweat
Because yo *** finna cash out
Roll with St Clair so dont dare
Try to come between my cash fiend
Endin' all dreams
Like ****** scene ill make ya scream
N tell the devil i said hi
And tell em he's next
Jackin' all demons in guise
****** warrior so who wanna plex?

she's slowly starting to forget things
but she preps her mind in stride
she constantly worries about this
i can tell when she tries to hide

and i know that it's absolutely frightening for her.
to lose her mind. to lose herself. to let worry win her over.
she focuses more out of fear and concentrates fiercely.
she practices her sounds and her faces. she memorizes scriptures and places.

"remember when we did this" - "it feels so long ago that we did that"
and i don't have the heart to tell her that i wasn't there.  
and my soul hurts for this dear woman of mine...who is slowly losing her mind.
as she tries to grasp the sanity that was never meant to stay long.

my mama is getting older. so i'll continue to use that excuse and comment lightly
that it is only stress that's getting to her. that she needs a holiday.
she'll take those reasons for now...but i know she still hides.

Who am I to be the representation of expression to the unexpressed,
a liquefied colourful presentation filling the outlines of all the depressed.  

Manifested to be what the world would label an outcast.
A fulfilment of that empty void of a heart, commonly known for not being built to last.
A trumpet blaring the truths of what self indulgence could bring many hurts to a soul,
the voice of the voiceless, speaking out for us all.

Being trampled down upon by the world's footprints of self doubt,
telling what I can't and fail to do, while I'm trying to figure all these things out.

And I would cast out my own two ears, just to hear empty silence when this world tries to speak.
A world so cold constantly trying to force me to reach my peak.
Surely now I would have learnt from my past mistakes and all my missteps,
surely no I could sense trouble five days away and be ready with all my preps.

But as I say again, I would be the voice to the depressed,
a loud voice to those gone silent, with no freedom to be expressed.

You seem to be everywhere
A meeting with
The thugs and the preps
Sunday service then the bar
No matter where you just
Don't stick out
You aren't offensive
You aren't memorable
You just sorta blend
And your a great climber.

The boys at my school are players
For one minute they have a girlfriend
Then next thing you they hate her

Then the next minute they are with someone new
It's not unusual to see a boy with girl after girl
Or boys who dump girls they get back with them
Because they are soon desperate

So players take advantage
They like preps
Populars and *****

They don't like normal people
That are nice
For they are
Players

Gotta laugh
at how things spin
and when they say
outcasts never win

but groups and cliches
are still a thing
still human
insecurities hidden within

Jocks and nerds
cheerleaders, readers
still inside
asking
"Please love me"
"Please accept me"

how things have seemed to turn
How outcasts are still outcasts
but things previously applied to outcasts
now mainstream?

An outcast is never truly outcast
for they outweigh those
said to be cool and popular
still

no matter how big the group
outcasts always seen as that
minority of preps will soon see
that the true outcasts
are those

hiding behind the validation
of others
and their crew

He doesn't like preps

So you better watch where you step

If you don't have that type of skin

That isn't paper thin

And I'd roll up and say,

"Yo, *****"

But I'd prefer her any day

i sit alone all night and watch as the
cars cross the bridge in rhythmic cycles,
i’m bundled on my couch under layers
of paperwork and half a medium pizza,
planning a summer trip in February.
i watch 4 episodes of the Walking Dead,
write a masters paper on Neoliberalism,
and call my mom to celebrate survival.
i live another week as a mid 20 something
who owns a Yeti cooler, a bright pink vape,
and a terrible personality to match.
is this what growing up looks like? i wonder.
i FaceTime my friend who bought a house,
another who lost a bet shaving his head for fun
and it is… to be this old and this young,
because either your friends are getting married,
or they’re sleeping with a CTV actor named Donald.
i don’t think there’s a point where this adds up,
the wave of maturity dances on our sore backs,
now it’s paying property taxes, it separates recycling,
goes to bed at 10:30pm sharp with a longer hangover,
meal preps for 7 days, only to order Uber Eats again.
you told me once there wasn’t a textbook for all this -
so I guess like my poems i just have to wing it.

if you only knew
the addiction that you're feeding
with your compliments

my body that you praise
the toned muscles "in all the right spots"
it's the product of
binge eating episodes
compulsive measuring of
every
gram
of
every
single
meal
i
ate
throughout the day
painful joints
from pushing past what should be safe and acceptable
paranoia and overwhelming anxiety
from missing a workout
or feeling as if i didn't push myself "hard" enough
when in the gym
the stress that followed me
when i couldn't count the macros in a meal
so i would bring my meal preps
everywhere
with
me
at sleepovers
and even restaurants
this
is the ugly side of my body and healthiness

my clothes and makeup that you praise
it's a mask that holds up my confidence
the one you say you admire so much
my attempt to cope with my insecurity
of believing that I was ugly
so much so
that at one point
i never took photos
looked in mirrors
or took off layers of jackets
i kept on my body during the summer
this
is the ugly side of my "envious" makeup and style

my grades that you are shocked by
how can a girl
that looks like you do have
consecutive 4.0s from middle school to nursing school in college
they have been my attempt to cope with an insecurity
of believing that i was dumb
and would never surmount to anything
they are the product
of my unintentional weight loss that fluctuated
in middle and high school
because my chronic stress would take away my appetite
lunches were comprised of library study sessions
i would throw up
dry heave mostly
in the mornings
before exams
because it made my nerves go away
having night terrors with school
where i would wake up sweaty and scared
my heart beat pounding in my ears
endless hours of crying
wishing i was "normal"
whatever that means
never taking the time
of admiring my accomplishments
because the fear of the next assignment
consumed me
not knowing how to answer the question
what do you do outside of school
to take care of yourself
and being shocked by the silence
that lingered for way too long
and the tears that quietly ran down my cheeks
not knowing what self-care was
because i was so consumed with my grades
truly believing that i didn't deserve to go to school
if i got an A-
when i was in sixth grade
this
is the ugly side of my academic achievements

i guess some would say i'm someone that
"has it all"
but tell me this
why is it when i had "everything"
the face
the body
the style
the grades
the personality
the talents
when i felt like i had absolutely nothing
when i felt like i was absolutely nothing
my story is not for everyone
not everyone can relate
but everyone can see the ugliness in carnal perfection
it's empty
but appears to be filled with substance
like a hot air balloon

when i had "everything"
i was at my lowest
and now
i'm learning what balance is
what self-care is
what it means to be original
and not a carbon copy of society's perfection in the flesh
i work out
but for myself and not for numbers
i don't track anything
i wear makeup when i want to
and dress how i feel like dressing
slowly learning to have a genuine confidence
and love for myself
i don't study as much as i used to
i take that time and invest it into others hobbies
like when i featured in a song
went dancing to a club in the city
went to a Kevin Gates concert
i'm finally learning who i am
i'm finally living for myself
i hope you are as well

I'm getting ready to relax on some tracks and start a collage of all my beats and raw underground raps,
Sell my lyrics and make it in a world where I can be whatever I want off my own business I'm sick of this world that is spinning spun  around a light looking so dark when they wake to the bright side of the rhyme puns,
I'm lungs hung up in pharoh shrines,
I'm traps set within pyramid dives,
And deep sea swims where discoveries can't be described,
I can willfully speak like placements of fixed history I'm a speaker literally on a speaker speaking figuratively it's a technical state of tranquility my mentality preps instantly when beats hit my ears and I just arrive in Japan with the intent to walk into the woods full of energy,
I'm always feeling me mc meeting myself mixed in the mysteries I've mastered lyrically

Let it flow from the heart causing aches
The mindset changes with each line
Writing about the distraction
Taking away from tormenting thoughts
Instead of empowering it letting it grow
All these scenarios made up in the mind
All these possibilities that never happen
Things play out differently due to reality
Never accordingly the mind preps for it