rap career

I know people think
I’m not the most expressive
unless herded to the brink
but don’t be dismissive.
My emotions are not passive,
they are massive.
Yes it’s good
but I don’t need sex,
I want emotion.
Companion-ship is the most important thing
in this world of rolling oceans.
Is that too much
commotion?
If I scream and shout,
spell-cast Red Mist,
strike with my fist,
does that mean I care? 
I do not display violence here,
especially at the beginning
of my rap career.
Believe me,
if I didn’t mind
I would have disappeared.
I would have stopped being kind
when I was eighteen.
But I’ve been
around,
you might have seen me,
admittedly a little unhinged
because I haven’t been watching the news.
My head’s been floating free of the world,
unsure of what will make my body crumble next.
I’ve taken a tumble before,
I don’t get surprised when I lose
anymore.
So I change the channel to the ABC or even something lairy.
I don’t provide couch commentary,
rather feel my face hurt
and it’s quite nice
because for once it isn’t my chest.
It was hard not to think
something sinister went on
but I’ll never know
because it’s gone.
You haven’t always gotten my best,
I forget to project
after the turmoil of getting through the day.
I do mean what I say here,
it’s just that sometimes 
I feel like the folded pelican on the pier.
How could it ever lift itself into the air?
Then you watch it fly
and it’s glorious.
Do you see him there?
He’s not in the sky to stretch his wings,
he wants to impress you.
So far I can only do that
in my stories.
At times I’m a thousand bee-stings
of self-destruction,
I only spill my guts
at the very end.
It’s not the most efficient
way to be existing.
When I learn to steer a saddle
I’ll have a new genuine love,
one that needs no reciprocation
to make me happy.
I will take myself out into the cold
before I’m too old.
I will be bold
and take those 10 days
in the wilderness.
I will not shave my beard,
I need to hide the blush in my face
every time I open my mouth.
I need something for the ice to form in,
Need to brush it away like sin,
and keep my identity hidden safe,
just in case
I actually risked myself
with no fear of losing my self.
I would stare at wood grains
and you would see me in space
but I see things there;
Like a world that’s stable,
one where I’m able
to resist ticking boxes
and adding labels
that have no place in what’s real.
All my life
I’ve just been trying to heal.
I’m good,
I attempt to find the people that are good
but they prove it wasn’t a good deal
most of the time.
I used to think it was my fault,
there was something wrong with how I felt
but I’ve checked my tool belt,
tightened every bolt
and put a halt to those thoughts
now.
I listened to Milo
(that line when he says 
“Maybe if I learned to sing raspy like Gonjasufi
I wouldn’t always feel so fucking poopy”)
and didn’t know what he was saying,
but “if I was a necromancer”
I’d bring back all my dogs.
So I made some Milo instead
but that put kids in my head.
Specifically me
drinking milk
and chocolate dirt after dinner
at my parents’ feeling like a winner.
The only difference now
is that the house has blown away
and they’re not within shouting distance
to say it’s okay.
Trifling alterations…
There’s got to be a key
to open up
what’s inside of me.
I don’t want to be late,
or for her to get tired of me.
In honesty
I have no rhythm
but I’ve got heart
and that’s what it takes
to create art.
Sadly the images,
and my pride,
are missing.
This level,
just like Donkey Kong,
had a found a way to beat me.
I get distracted
by two people kissing.
It must have been early
because they took their time
and their lips were soft,
and when they locked eyes
the train lurched and stopped
but they kept to their goodbyes.
I closed mine,
sure that I had tried.
He had said
why now, when everything was working out?
I too wondered what that was about,
I asked the same question
as I cried.
When I need to feel better
and worse at the same time
I put on my favourite song.

I hoped it wouldn’t take long.


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