Its not hard to show emotion.
Watching my people die in slow motion.
Reminiscent of how they use to throw us in the ocean.
Gasping for air, Grasping for recognition.
Like the way our abused mothers stay in the kitchen.
Saying things like:
“That’s just the way he is.”
That’s the only reflection,
Instead of learning the lesson the first time he put his hands on you outside of the bedroom.
It isn’t us it’s them, that’s the reason why the majority of us fail out of school.
School isn’t the only way, but saying that shit and then not being shit.
Kinda proves the point that we don’t want shit right?
False idols should be our rivals; instead we cling to them,
Like a virgin girl that clings to a guy who gave her that first orgasm.
It’ll never last, but that’s hard to believe while we’re repeating the pass.
Fuck any nigga that think different, but love any nigga that’s ignorant.
Insert the street code with your game genie.
And be surprised when you lose that one life.
The only unlimited supply of ammo I hear are excuses.
Yeah they abused us, but what’s our excuse now?
The media got us fucking up,
The country got us fucked up,
And we got ourselves fucked up,
Running a muck
As if we’re excused, because of how we were brought up.
Fuck anyone else that think otherwise.
The sooner the weak ones die, the quicker we’ll stop being throw away human beings.
Yeah it’s fucked up, but we have to realize that with everything we do comes consequence.
I wince at the idea that we deserve a handout.
Bite the hand that feeds you if it only offers you the same thing.
We aren’t drones, but Mace Windu would roll over in his grave if he knew how much of the force we didn’t use.
We excel at anything we put our mind to, anything that we are passionate about we out do the competition.
Instead of being so quick to play victim, why not listen to the rhythm of the world.
We are fearful and needful, when it benefits us.
But the moment we’re mistreated all of sudden we have what it takes to stand up to the opposition.
Our problem isn’t self doubt, it’s accountability.
If one of us messes up, we should point it out instead of finding some outside source to blame.
It isn’t about being better for them it’s about being better for ourselves.
Just imagine what we can do without chains.
Let me begin by saying welcome. Welcome to the mentality of a 28 year old who still struggles with personification. Who still struggles with relations. Loose lips sink ships and I’ve never gone on a cruise, but I have ridden waves. Never been sea sick, but I do lock lips with temptation from time to time. I drink from it like it’s a fine wine. I prefer beer, but whiskey comes in a solid first. Much like temptation does. In this case temptation is a metaphor. A metaphor for the one that got away, the one I told go away. The one I adored, the one I ignored. The one I slept with that my friends are friends with, but they don’t know about it. I don’t think any of them are here so it’s ok to mention. I have a penchant for dismissing the obvious when temptation comes knocking. When temptation comes calling at two in the morning. Answering the phone yawning. Pretending like I’ve been asleep. It’s the weekend so I’ve been up playing Playstation. Knowing this girl doesn’t want any kind of relation. She just thinks sex with me is a bit better than masturbation. I accept her request and invite her over into my nest. There’s no love here, only lust. My heart is a machine that use to be pristine and clean. But now there’s just rust. I grow tired of bedding women that think I’m good enough to fuck, but I’m not good enough to love. You usually only hear this kind of thing happening to women. I want to offer her character, but she rather have carats. Maybe I’m in the wrong business. The business of wanting more than just hot food and hot sex. I can pleasure myself, thanks. It may not be exactly the same, but watching 47 seconds of that perfect video that I found online puts me to bed just fine. And I’m a decent cook, my Mom taught me a few things from her recipe book. She also taught me to let someone know if you care about them. It’s easy to hide behind text messages when when all you want to know is how wet it is. Though I am 28 years old; I don’t feel hold, but these fake rabbit holes are beginning to take their toll.
As I glance over the ocean that is my life.
I see memories in the shape of islands.
Islands that belong to lovers, families, friends.
When it all ends I wonder what kind of picture my ocean will paint.
As my mind begins to fade and the color in my eyes turns a darker shade.
A reflection in the water of how I spent my days.
Though I feel like my youth is not being wasted, there is some truth to the sentence: Time stops for no one.
Oh how much time I have wasted.
My ambition, I’ve misplaced it.
Under the expectations of needing someone to be by my side.
Though I do long for a companion to experience life with.
I can’t help but realize that it isn’t worth holding my future for ransom.
Not that it’s hard to find someone.
I MEAN I know I’m not ugly because my mom calls me handsome.
It just takes a bit of effort to find THAT someone.
There’s a joke in there somewhere about Flava of Love.
Just as it takes effort to find someone, it takes effort to rise above the notion that you can’t be happy alone.
For those that care enough about it, it’s hard. I know.
I use to think the idea of finding someone before I grew into myself appealing.
It still is, but I can’t hold my breath forever.
So I’ve began to exhale ideas and let those creative juices flow.
Instead of worrying so much about getting involved in other types of juices.
My favorite juice is cranberry by the way.
I rather spend my years chasing something that won’t leave me once I catch it.
Take the time to master a craft where years down the line I won’t regret it.
Having knowledge that I can pass down to inspire others to pursue a life that is fulfilling.
I feel like there’s enough of us offering dating advice.
And I figure we need more of us who can teach a room full of people about computers and programming.
But that’s a subject for another day.
Just as another day passes me by.
I’ve stopped asking myself why and now I ask myself what.
What will you do today and who will you touch?
Will you spark something in yourself or in your friends.
Because we are nothing but our legacy when our life ends.
Enough with the bullshit as you spew acid from your foul lips.
Your tongue is toxic.
I shadow box with the lies that you manifest.
I hate that I invest time like there’s nothing else.
I could be chasing wealth or even someone else.
You tampered with the cards you were dealt.
The way you slithered in.
You’re a cheat that creeps under silk sheets.
Not mine, because mine were made from polyester.
Hate that I met ya.
Regret that I let cha.
You’re Tweety bird and I’m Sylvester.
Suffer and succotash.
Is what I said when I saw that ass walk pass whose reflection I saw through broken glass.
My pool was only 3 feet deep.
Pause. I had to give it a minute.
At first my heart wasn’t in it.
Because my glass walls were still broken.
Thought I could fall again.
Another shot so here’s to hoping.
I didn’t think you were a slut when you let me touch your butt on the first night.
It’s all about having fun right?
The surprise kiss was nice.
No amount of apologizing could cause me to stop exercising how much I dislike you.
Well that’s not entirely true because I can’t get upset with you because of my expectation of us having a relation.
Ship has sailed after calculating all the lies you tell.
Oh well back to what matters most.
Waking up early for work with eggs and toast.
Coming home to a laptop so I can work on side projects.
That weekend I paid you a visit I don’t regret.
The sex was good.
The food was good.
The view was good.
Thought you were good.
Because I was good.
Thought we were good.
Your last text inspired me to write this.