"sellout" poems
If you're a writer your main trade is hating yourself and
finding ways to be clever about it.
Smoke cigar and coffee-stained typewriters,
bachelor in the sixties, suicide in the seventies.
I'm just a cliché, raining cats and dogs, beating dead horses and singing
a little song about death
a little song about love
there is nothing new under the sun.
Dylan doesn't understand what you do is better than
accounting, your trade is people
like stock markets-
string them up and watch them fall
I play with hearts, you say like
a girl showing off her somersaults in the backyard.
But no one is listening.
…
…
…
So you burn your eyes out with hot wax in the living room
and swear
your name is Icarus
throw your diploma into the laundry and watch it turn into tissue paper,
taking moonlight walks down the beach and
straight into the bottom
of the ocean.
(you thought she would hit you
when you told her you wanted to write
but she only laughed...
and you were surprised
how much
it hurt.)
Your father's pride, a phone full of contacts,
seeing straight in the ******* morning and the heart
of a girl that was once foolish
enough to love nitroglycerine,
sold for
a bottle of ink and a scrap of paper
and your name in the
obituaries.
...
...
...
Tell yourself it was worth it.
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 1:44 AM UTC
Lizard King, on the bar, from rooftops
and over your legacy you took a swirling a ****
drunk on blood with a treacherous witch high off acid.
Grabbing your junk and exposing your genitals onstage
passing out, failing the test of life and yet making the grade.
You became and overweight bearded *******
weary and heavy like your poetic incoherent rambles
with a voice like Sinatra when you really wanted to,
like your average intoxicated uncle when you gave less of a ****
in the studio, recording frustrations while getting ********
Opening the doors to the eyes of delusion and distortion
the crystal ship sailed without causing so much confusion
as to who you are, who you were and who you aspired to be
the next great American wordsmith,
“Light My Fire” is a fine tune, please sing it for me,
without cussing me out, calling me a sellout and everything in between.
Breaking through to the other side of madness
wheels falling off riding by your roadhouse blues
some might say Val Kilmer made an even better you
a mirror image of the decimated natives of your youth.
Abruptly moved to France to be the next Pepe Le Pew
but instead took a ****** bath to the afterlife.
Some loved your talent, others thought you made a prettier corpse
so tonight I’ll toast your legacy of leather pants
frat boy good looks, ****** off rants, Raiders on the Storm
and checking out right after Hendrix you inconsiderate ******
I still love you though, with my heart crossed
dearly dearest quintessential *******
Jim Morrison.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 2:57 PM UTC
It's holidays hamsters haven't you herd.
From all that annoying *** music and commercials done by sellout artist
trying to be cool word.
I myself would rather spend this month in a holiday coma.
Buy some cheap hookers some good whiskey and run over a black Friday crowd
in a stolen Sonoma .
It's give me give me and that's just from dad.
He'll break the bank and mommy will give him something the other
night his brother already had.
Maybe I should plant a minefield upon my lawn.
To ward off carolers who only make me yawn.
I'll poison my cookies and sit back and wait.
Rob the old fat man and take Miss Santa out on a much deserved date.
Make your list and he will check twice.
After I blow his *** to pieces it really wont matter if your naughty or nice.
The holidays are a time for people to act insane over **** they do not need.
There addicts of want the stores are nothing more than dealers
selling coke crank and ****
Maybe you love the lights and the holiday rush with the family and all.
Well you can eat **** and jingle my ball.
I hope to stay on the naughty list as long as I'm alive.
Sincerely from Gonzo.
Shut the **** up and stop acting worse than a child who's five.
Don't send me a card cause I wont reply.
Here's your present it's a bomb now please die.
I hate the holidays call me a Grinch if you like.
**** you Santa all I asked for was a brick of ******* ,ten cases of whiskey, a key to the ******* mansion , a lifetime pass to the chicken ranch , A million dollars in unmarked bills ,
My neighbors dead ,And Harley Davison Motor bike.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
I am the definition of a sinner.
This is the life Where no one is crowned a winner.
I'm buried alive, too tired from the struggle that I survive.
I get pulled over no matter how fast or slow I drive.
They get paid to take me out of this world either I'm convicted, dead or exiled for life.
But I stay true to wherever I ride.
Because I got certain standards I have to abide.
I'm not slippery but I slip out the back just so I can run to go hide.
I'm not a sellout, so I won't surrender my pride.
I'm just a product of uncle sams factory distribution line.
I live in this box that reads "pure evil, nothing good of his kind".
They put me on your local news and they keep pressing rewind.
So society has a basis to punish me so their ego is fine.
Every night that you eat with your family, in prison is where I dine.
I suffer from nightmares of living the american dream.
Then I wake up and look down at my hand holding this knife.
I only wanted to live happy and construct a real meaningful life.
My heart bleeds for my beautiful children.
I'm badly wounded inside by searching for this nonexistent philosophical wife.
Some might say it was caused by pure negligency, but I fought for this freedom, revealing my true legacy.
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 11:18 PM UTC
I bring hit after hit like a boxer
You haters' inconsistent
Everybody's on the same vibe
Mine's kinda' different
Verse hot, hook hot--
I'm gon' sellout soon as I drop
Verse hot, hook hot--
I'm gon' sellout soon as I drop
Minor in poetry, fine-arts major
Doctor goon on deck, call this a fear-factor
I'm going in, but I ain't got no curfew
I son a lot of you, it's like I birth you
Got a lot of verses, but this ain't a Bible
Fallout when you hear this, I ain't liable
Ain't talking 'bout tearing, but the beats R.I.P
Didn't sell a lot of tracks, but I got D.O.E
Put you up on game, my hustle's M.O.E
Music over everything, ain't moving 'D'
I got cash like the bank, I sell CD's
Smells funny, tickled my nose, I might sneeze
You would think I'm water, the way I flow
I'm just like some dynamite, bound to blow
Act like you're in a recliner, lay back
If I ain't on fire, then why they say that?
Feature, feature, can I get a feature
So far ahead I sit on competition--bleacher
My Raps' like a bunch of apartment buildings, complex
Got chicks on my jock', ain't talking 'bout ***
I'm so different, it's magnificent
Haters want me to fall, but that's not how the script went
Thing's fishy, I ain't gettin' caught in that net
Just killed the beat, without breaking a sweat
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 12:12 PM UTC
Time will tell if we come back together again
Time will tell if we reunite too excel
Time will tell if I strive & make it out alive
Time will tell when I freeze a moment in time
Time will tell if I sellout to a life of crime
Time will tell when I lose balance & fall off my feet
Time will tell if I prosper victorious or meet my defeat
Time will tell holdin weight servin late in aburnin lake
Time will tell when all my enemies turn too ashes
Time will tell the day they are doom crippled to hell
Time will tell when I rise to the sky like a phoenix
Time will tell the worlds terror soon comes to an end
Time will tell when angels & demons come into battle
Time will tell trangressors condemned for impartials
Time will tell true colors reveal fake lovers appeal
Time will tell the day everyone face judgements day
Time will tell when my Lord finally begins inducting
Time will tell instructing where all ships set sail
Time will tell products sold to the mark of the beast
Time will tell demons on fire casted straight to hell
Time will tell when we prevail gathering to depart
Time will tell the trumpets sound off the final call
Time will tell witness sufferings by insects & locust
Time will tell when the plagues come in effect
Time will tell when the earth begins to quake
Time will tell if I ever see your pretty face again
Only time will tell, Only time can tell, pick heaven or hell?
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 5:28 PM UTC
Mosh pit
at the Senior Center:
giving God the finger at 76.
Names no one heard of,
(bands long-dead
on their leather jackets)
still squatting anarchy,
arthritically smashing the State,
babbling Mao,
drooling Bakunin,
shocking the middle-class mores
as their Christian nurse
empties their bedpan
no sellout, etc.
Years
since ******** songs
were used for car commercials
on network T.V.
Sep 5, 2020
Sep 5, 2020 at 7:52 AM UTC
Remember when you were a kid, Tiger?
days when I bit tighter, yet a lot lighter
jammed to the angels, on all nighters
yet we would never see anything ? then
Be on all four corners at once she said
hanging up on me -turning onto sixth
as if my head didn't know which way
was up , in the first place, call from an
unknown number asking for Marcus
Peoterroro ,yelling I say you ***** *****
calling me every **** night, right at the
click dial tone I'm still screaming more
shake down silhouette in a silkink stop
the car barely missing the sellout love of
my night life, like you barely missing me
"i didn't even have to circle the block babe"
"i didn't even put on my better nightshade"
perfect plethora of a serpentine in her ******
hell to hand baskets in a switchblade seance
speaking directly to the man who killed my
fiance, and then dropped the dagger on my
doormat **cheer up you ******* doormat**
i feel as if she slapped me, mourning nothing
but the format of the masterpiece, ****** her
in the back, at least, felt no hair nor thigh
nor sympathy or wasted time, nor gluttony
raging sun of the twin, and moon of the son
of killing me slowly like nails on chalkboard
it running down our spine sinning jealously
doomed to be a rot, mother ******* sell out piece
while they sell their selves for *** i do it for press
release me in my sad abortion of what i can't believe
counting down the days until my day job comes and
rescues me from my celibate leave , maybe
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 2:05 PM UTC
I'm an armchair warrior
trying to sell my soul
to the undesirable myriads
soaked in stains and oil.
Curl up with your coffee cups
(now children)
Curl up with your cigarettes
Take your vice and leave this place
No less weary less.
I'm a sellout to this
yes I'd sell out to a fish
If he'd give me a dime bag
and a paper.
I will sellout to you
I will sell my soul tonight
For a loudspeaker
And a deaf audience.
My life is a mess
I shouldn't cry less
I should really embrace the tears.
But with each coming year
I have come to fear
That I will drown in these tears.
And this beautiful mess
And all this crazyness
Is really beginning to drag.
I'm tired of pieces
Ignorant of puzzles
Give me a ******* cigarette.
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 3:10 PM UTC
“where do we go from here?”
a line that haunts a million songs
like a small, aching insect
creeping in through the cracks in the lyrics
and spreading its wings to infect the expanse
of music that reaches my ears
do you ever feel like there’s a theme to your life?
some familiar collection of words, some thought
that pervades the space around you
and finds body in the world that follows
your every move
some chord, bright or dire or dim
that resounds in the echoes
in the tunnels you pass through
and sings silently after each word you speak
ringing softly beneath your footsteps
colouring the air you exhale
“where do we go from here?”
the first time i heard those six words
i have no idea where i was
or when
but i remember the thought that came to mind as
desolation
and it made my heart hurt
and i was happy
because i now i could prove its existence
“where do we go from here?”
one day i heard those six syllables
as i often did, above me
tinny and abrupt from the speakers
hidden in public places, among the plastic clouds
and spiderwebs
and i, at the precipice
of some great beginning
felt that thought beneath my step
and my soul sang, it breathed in deep
and i was happy
because now i could prove its existence
“where do we go from here?”
one day i found those words
etched into the notes of some electronic
heartbeat or sellout tune
and i, in the middle of a slow tumble
towards the realization of a loss
of a feeling i had worked so hard to find
felt the emptiness between my fingers
and the ground pressing into the soles of my feet
and the ache once again in my mind
and my heart and my soul
and i knew now the existence
of the feeling inspired
by the downturn of that phrase, six words
that speak to us all
“where do we go from here?”
i thought of this line on my own time
and never knew how to use it
until today, aware of a familiar scent
in the air, i sat down
and faced the six words haunting my ears
and embraced their meaning
closed my eyes and breathed in their truth
felt the confusion and desolation and joy
that seeped into my bones the harder i tried
to join myself with the forever aching phrase
that i now know was written
to describe the way i move through this life
and today, as i walked
with false purpose along the real lines of the road
i felt words pressing sharp into my cheeks
and i turned to you but could not let them free
six words, a simple door
into the patterned floor and closed curtains
of my untidy mind
and so i let the sentence be
swallowed it whole, let it sit in my lungs
a while longer
and i still have yet to ask you
“where do we go from here?”
has there ever been an answer to that question?
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 12:17 AM UTC
I've never cared for money.
Even less for politics.
All of the lies and the chaos
always seemed to make me sick.
I hate going to school,
but I guess I'll play the game.
Or maybe I will quit one day, sellout,
and chase the fame.
I can solve a math equation,
so people insist that I'm smart.
But it's never felt like much to me,
compared to others art.
Others tell me I'm slow
and lack common sense.
But common is boring
so I don't take offense.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 11:03 PM UTC
well im the funky hocus pocus
emcees loose focus
cuz they know when i step to a show i blow
harder than Gillespie
aint none stoppin me droppin' me
uh true southern playalisticadicallic music
ya cant abuse it
ya thiught we was dead but resurrected injected
ya brain with a high funk overdose no syringe no pretend
our flows leave ya bent
competition just blowin'in the wind
my flow stings like misquito
enticin' west nile virus sound the chorus
dirtu ***** is what im about
we fight neva pout the gun in to snout
one shot no shout we all about
dollaz n cents i see you instense
but naw playa dont hate me
hate the suspense
as my money gettin' thicker
and thicker
richer and richer
and ya know foes try to roll.with ya uh
yosef don't play no games
when it comes to fame
I say **** the fame
n the shame
I love black people
but hate ****** mane
detrimentAl for out mental
tv's paint a tainted reality no positivity
in the black community
they told me
if I wanna be a star performing artist
I gotta sellout
Naw never that I like raider hats and baseballs bats to gats
quick to watch ya blood splat
**** the records execs
cuz I'm a threat poetic terrorist
this ain't the summertime
but I'll show ya porgy and Bess blessed from the sessed
so I can manifest
this beautiful lyrics
so foggy you couldn't clear it
I'm on ya conscious like bad nerves
twitchin forever lynching
mind of those who ain't listening
Dec 9, 2016
Dec 9, 2016 at 1:38 PM UTC
Drying like a dying leaf
Thirsty angry full of grief
Ain't no water in this town
And if there were I'd spit it out
Deny myself
No, quenching thirst
It ain't for me
I don't deserve
Not today
Not anyway
Today I'm dry
Wrinkled weathered withered spirit
All alone yet too much noise
I hear my name
Another day
At the office
With the drones
But who am I if I'm not them
If them is drones I'm the ******* motherboard
Of corporate copy selling ****
To ***** across the world
It pays the bills
Such a sellout
So I won't quench my thirst
Aug 24, 2017
Aug 24, 2017 at 8:51 AM UTC
Girl who shreds the stars in August
Trading taxis like radio stations
Fire in her eyes, sharp like diamonds
Who knew she’d be the sellout?
Just roll the dice
Boy who marches to the drummer’s beat
Holds the truth upon his knees
Breath all he has, death all he needs
Who knew he’d be the sellout?
Just roll the dice
We'll die another day
Running all the way.
Jul 6, 2011
Jul 6, 2011 at 9:40 PM UTC
How could I ignored it
How could I say it don't feel it
The feeling of been betrayal
The feelings of been sell short of my worth
Flames in my eyes burn with anger
And you don't see it how
Don't tell me to calm it down
How about looking me in the eyes
See how I feel before you say something
#sellout #bitterheart #flames
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 9:57 PM UTC
I quit my job today
it's like gaining a beautiful freedom,
Wouldn't you say?
To wake up, In a world free from the clock in, clock out
I didn't leave a note, I just walked out
Honestly, I'm smiling with no doubts, no regrets
Even more honest, it's been five minutes,
I haven't even gotten in my car yet.
And I haven't had a chance to dissect these decisions.
I got a wife and son at home, they don't even know,
I don't even know what I was thinking,
Sit down for a minute, I'm getting blurred vision.
I'm taking some time for myself today,
Those bills can stack like dominos,
They fall, I didn't plan to pay them anyway.
I'll play these video games and become a legend,
Sodas will pay me to represent them
I'd be a sellout in a second, that isn't even a question
Just as long as I don't need to get out of bed, then I'll be fine.
It's alright, keep telling myself, it's alright.
I retired from my job today,
I gave my title away
What will I do without this purpose?
What is there, now, for me to seek?
I'm trying not to freak out
Honestly, my nerves are shot, my brain feels so tired
Even more honest, I'm driving home to try to explain to my family
That really I just got fired.
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 2:04 AM UTC
Snakes with two lines
Influence rhymes
To be made with drug signs
But who cares black man
Get them dimes
At the expense of our kind
Sellout sellout sellout
Got our fabric cloned for their form
Then call it a new uniform
Despite the source not cited
They never get indicted
Sellout sellout sellout
Hit that ticket catch a flick
Witness the robbery of our slapstick
Our style our jokes our swagger
It resonates when they imitate
Sellout sellout sellout
I don’t blame the man
Or the white hand
Or the illuminati band
Ultimately it’s our folks
That spends the cash
So we always crash
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 6:11 PM UTC
Your chalky eyes
read my chapped lips
as words tumble from my tongue
like a sickness
Your wryly fingers
Trace shapes against your knee
Like a spider stitching it’s web
And my voice cracks
Your closed lips
sit motionlessly on your face
like art in a gallery
and I am a sellout
Your destructive neglect
Weighs my tireless breath
And I am screaming now,
“I need your help,”
Your eyes glaze over
As your fingers drum
And your lips purse
And I am nowhere to be found
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 11:30 PM UTC
I'm a spineless puppet
A foolish doll that everybody seems fit to play with
I'm too scared to say what I feel it's
Annoying when I don't want to do something
And everybody keeps shoving thoughts ideas and opinions down my throat
Like I'm a **** hungry ********** what the flying ****
I'm not a sellout so stop forcing yourselves into my head
Please, let me grow myself a spine... Before my individuality is dead
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 12:21 AM UTC
An apostle named Paul said that the love of money is the root of all evil
The playwright George Bernard Shaw said that the lack of money is the root of all evil
I think they're both right, but personally i couldn't bring myself to put any money on it.
If money is evil, it seems like war that it is a necessary one
But that doesn't mean we should spend all of our time training with knives and guns
And like Mobb Deep said a shook one
Would dare to use their natural talents to earn funds
But what about doing something for the love of doing it?
What about artistic integrity and personal pride?
Well, I'll put it to you like this.
Every artist thats had a hit has also had to miss
And if you can make money doing what you love for the rest of your years
Bless you, creative soul for culturing our sodding ears
Dec 15, 2016
Dec 15, 2016 at 10:24 AM UTC
You said im an o.g
But i am just the same old me.
You told me i was a legend
I tell you im a writer
Nothing more
As you hold me up in such galor.
Im not an o.g
Never was
Truth is
There's little original about me.
I mean
Im not a sellout
I dont copy
But im not hype either.
My spirits get low.
Im not an o.g
Just let me be.
Dont try to lie to me
And tell me im great
Cuz **** well i aint.
Im no o.g
But thanks
anyways
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 12:31 AM UTC
I do wonder why you chose me,
Could it be my foreign looks,
Or perhaps you wanted to add an Asian to your books
Why on earth indeed, especially when you're free?
I hope it's because we're destined to be,
But I feel as if I'm on a hook.
This feels surreal just like out of a book;
I do wonder how you love me.
I have a volatile mind,
That will not cease doubts
From overflowing until I'm out-shined.
I feel drained from being entwined
With my thoughts, hoping for that final knockout.
Hoping for all this to end - yes, I know I'm a sellout.
But this is my life; I will not be out-shined.
Jul 8, 2019
Jul 8, 2019 at 2:58 PM UTC
I woke up on my comfortable Sealy mistress
And turned of the alarm on my Apple iPhone 6
I walk into the kitchen and turn on my Keurig machine
And I put in my Dunkin Donuts medium roast coffee
I set my Starbucks coffee mug beneath it
As its filled with two teaspoons of C&H; sugar
I turn on my widescreen HD LG television
And start up my Amazon Kindle Fire HD tablet
I order some Dominoes pizza for delivery
And put in a Walt Disney movie
I proceed to drift to sleep on my JC Penny's couch
And I dream that I am nothing but a sellout
Dec 12, 2016
Dec 12, 2016 at 12:08 AM UTC