That's Life.

Somethin like a fish out of water
Or lemon juice on an open wound.
Kinda like a deck of 51, &all you're missin' is the queen of hearts.

Like your body's ready to shut down
But your mind is racing
Cuz the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.

Life is full of nothin but mismatch socks& flat soda,
cuz knots are so easy to make,
yet a pain in the ass to take out.
The puniest papercuts are the ones that hurt the most,
&whenever you're lookin for zip-up hoodies,
All they carry are pull-overs.
No matter how many times I add& alter this poem,
The list goes on.

This ain't irony,
&I ain't tryna get deeply analytical;
These are just the beautiful mishaps of Life.

This is to you, Holden Caufield.

a little background on the poem. i wrote it for an assignment in February (07) after reading The Catcher in the Rye. It's to Holden Caufield. if you haven't read the book yet, then go get yourself a copy at the library or something.

Fallin' apart
With a bed of concrete to soften your landing
Yeah, I been there.
Lookin' for a friend to be by your side
But all you find is a Scotch& Coke, with a hunting hat to hide behind
Hm, I know how you feel.
Lookin' for love
When females' natural scent is lust
Boy, ain't that the truth.
Exhausted from jumpin' into taxis& catchin' trains to get to the right place
When the streets only let you make left turns
I know, I'm on the same page.
Just watchin' your money fly out the window,
'Cause you're trying to fill that void
Please believe, I'm doin' the same thing.
We're tired of crying out of no where
Fed up with phonies
Done with dealin' with morons with inferiority complexes
Broken from Love
Or more like, the absence of it.
But please,
Don't feel alone
Because regardless the time difference
Leaving aside race or gender,
Despite our separate life stories,
We share the same pain.

Truth Is.

I'm not sick
although i feel like throwing up
neglecting their freedom of speech
people choose silence over the privilege to verbally teach
because they're too afraid to stand up& speak
so you're trapped in your box of adversity
you mime your way through things

you now
conform to perform on your platform of
lies that you tell
every time that you tell
the world that you're fine
when you're really just blind
you built your walls up so high that youre shielding yourself from the truth

truth is
no matter how many Iraqis we kill,
the war is still not over
truth is
no matter how many showers you take,
it wont wash away your guilt
(that's called an apology.)
truth is
no matter how loud your turn up the music or how many hours you sleep or how many drugs you take or scars you make or poems you write,
your problems will still be
your problems

so face it,
high school popularity wont help your career
your brand new jordans were made by a little asian boy that gets paid less than a dollar a day
ignorance is the most harmful thing you can give into
admit it
embrace it
acknowledge it
cuz the truth will set you free.

Love Happens Nonetheless.

Beautifully bittersweet
Yet I painstakingly pardon you
Through miscommunicated misunderstanding
&misunderstood miscommunication
The only thing that gets us through it
Is Love

Besides the fact that
I've written poems to you, for you& about you
Most of which you don't take out the time to hear
I'm not in it for the chase,
Cuz you& I both understand that
I'm not in it for kicks.
Or clothes& gifts for that matter.
I'm your better half
Matter fact...I'm your better 80%
Cuz the 80-20 rule couldn't be more true

You hold my hand
So I ask if this means you love me
You say, "only for today."
This is the game that we play.

Despite the red Valentine hearts filled with sweets,
I have rotted to the core;
This is more like a Halloween trick without the treat.
purple heart cuz I'm holdin my breath
That stale bubble of air that's stuck in my chest.
I just need to find the right moment
When it's
Okay
To just
Exhale.

Fallen out of love-
Or more like
Climbed out with my bare hands
I don't even like writing about love
&here you got me exposing myself
&left a hole in my walls that you crashed down
So now you're leavin just as fast as you came in.

Now I see,
Through the grander scheme of things,
That God planned to be most present in my flaws& mistakes.
So when he opened up the heavens& sent me thru the fire of you
I gotta get burned, &call it a lesson learned.

I guess its true that
Love was never meant for
You& me

But hey,
This is just another bittersweet love poem written to you, for you& about you,
That you haven't taken the time out to hear.

Fuck bitches, get money. (Confessions of a Workaholic)

Confidently concealed.
Kept under wraps.
Enshrouded with booby traps.
I am one tough cookie.

Maluhine.
The outsider.
Not of this land.
Not affiliated with the similar,
I don't match,
I am my own& I strictly do me.
I'm hard to get to for a reason;
Out of your league,
cuz there's no way in hell
that ima fall under a category with others.
A wildflower all my own.
Fuck the identical bought boquets you can pick up at any corner.
(Roses really smell like boobooboo.)
Vibrantly voluptuous.
Too much for you to handle,
cuz if you can't handle me at my worst,
you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.
You need to get right or get left.

Roots run too deep for you to even begin to comprehend.
Educated by the best: my own mistakes.
Fool me once, shame on you;
Fool me twice, shame on me.
Learn& live.
I don't have time to play games;
Even if I did,
I'd be ten steps ahead of ya.
I'll never let em see me sweat.
I'm too cute for that =)
All I'll give you is my index, middle& ring finger,
&I'll leave it up to you to read between the lines.
I wouldn't give you the time of day for anything else.

I must confess,
I've always had a mistress.
I just gotta let you know.
She always has time for me,
&she gives me a break when I need it.
Treats me good& I like to call her my sugar momma.
It's work.
I'll always put her first cuz she don't fuck me over,
&play me like a fool.
Hey, maybe it's just the lust for money talking,
but
She makes me happy.

I just wanna write
write til I finish the ink in my favorite pen
write til my callous is rough& rugged
write til my wrist aches from the curves of my barcode-looking handwriting
write til my feelings bleed onto the paper like some freak accident.
I write
cuz it's easy to control what I say,
when I say it,
&to whom I am saying it.
I have the power to delete, backspace& erase.
When I write,
my silences are never awkward
Pauses are intentional
&I can make you hang on to my words even after they are written
cuz these words have bled into your mind as if it was underneath this sheet of paper.

I read cuz
there is a definite beginning, middle& end.
I can identify the hero &villain
&know the outcome before the story ends.
It's an escape.

I live in my surreality.

P.S. I don't play games.

Pick my brain.
Push my buttons.
Pluck the wings off these butterflies that escaped.
Make me look like the bad guy
Cuz as much as you say I'm playin games,
I really don't care for winning.
I'll be the loser& we'll call it a day,
cuz I'd rather take the heat than run up, down& around these chutes& ladders.
Goin' at it back &forth does not float my boat,
&neither does trying to convince someone that I'm not out to hurt them.

Yeah, I'm, wishy-washy.
No, I don't want to let anyone in.
So what?
You knew from the jump that I'm not perfect,
&I didn't even have to tell you that.
Can you blame me?

P.s.
Thanks for removing my writer's block.
As much as I avoid writing about crushes, admiration, &heartache,
I guess that's what thawed out my notebook that I been preserving for so long.

P.s.s.
I don't regret anything.
The cookie didn't go bad.
That's why I brush my teeth before I feel the ache,
cuz I'd rather be safe than sorry.
I can always fill my cavities;
Just give me some time& I'll call it a lesson learned.
Just like my third molars that are growing in;
Hurts like a bitch, but they call em wisdom teeth for a reason.