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mood |
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music |
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JLC-B-13 |
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"A-Z"
All the awaiting mothers in their adoloescent years
don't know the fear of the brothers as they
hear a brother get his brains bopped out. Brothers
gotta be careful around cashiers in convience stores.
All the damn dawgs that are falling down pay double because
they're criminals that ride the D-Train and can't read a damned dictionary.
Erroneous expressions with good intentions in court room hearings
bring bad newsto the fallible and forsaken mother
who has felt more pain then seemingly feasible.
Gods promises of grace and hops for a better tomorrow
brings nothing but shattered hope and hunger to those
who hear the truth behind the 'ingenius' words that
athiests are indifferent to.
I could be the jolly rancher, with children named of biblical
prophecies such as John and Jacob who kicked the bucket on
independency and sat, sniffing kerosene,
doing LSD, watching Limes dance with Lemons as the long day
comes to a miraculous end on a mauve sky.
But mothers are crying, making more babies,
nostalgic replacements for those who near tears
every time they smell fear. Longing for something more.
But neurotic tendencies
bring omissions to over trusting pairs who peel away friendship in
angry poems that bring qualms to the queen of break ups.
And that young girl with righteous ambitions that remakes
her future with each day dream
IS SO RIGHT.
As opposed to the slimy soccer jock, who smokes pot in secret
'cause he thinks it's hot. Where the hell is he going to?
His future contains turbulance and parental tension
with unknown unknowns that will never be understood
amongst the vicious voices that wail whines of
wants and things they want but don't got.
Each note on a xylaphone holds a bitter scream
of an ex-addict, who devoted their life to X and the perfect high.
And ever though our youth and offspring paint
pictures of yellow beasts, and other diseases,
I will never have to much zeal for my cause.
My mission to break through demilitarized zones,
to zap the hatred of tyrants.
To attain my own zone.
I FEEL SO RIGHT.
"Hair"
I want to have nappy locks
matted and dirty all the way down to my
twisting hips.
I want to have the kind of hair
that when you run your fingers through
they get caught half way.
Hair that doesn't shine in the sun
But is far from dull
in the midnight moonlight
Hair that makes people stare at its ever
changing colors.
Blue, red, black, brown, purple, blonde.
"She is nothing but trouble..."
hair that makes you try to place me
into a category in a world where classification is a necessity
Hair that challenges
simplicity.
Hair that brings attention wherever it goes.
Fuck it. It's just hair.
"Attempted Haiku on Individuality"
I am who I am;
Individuality.
Fuck the stressfullness
"Memories"
I'm searching for something to write home about.
Wanting to write something beautiful
that speaks for a cause
or tells a touching story.
Something that isn't always so pointless and sad,
about something I can't have.
I look around at all of the beautiful things and people.
"Dear Family,
I like it here, lots of things to see and not enough time-"
time time, my worst enemy, my best friend.
The one that will never leave but still
ran out too soon.
"Dear Family,
This place reminds me of so many things; all beautiful-"
beauty, beauty, something i know well-
something I've grown used to watching.
I look around at my friends, my surroundings
and I see beauty in the greasy sking, the worn out shoes...
The tired eyes that have been up as early as 5.
"Dear Family,
I want to come home, this place is wonderful, but it reminds me-"
memories, memories, the ouct come of everything.
The universal solution to the silliest of arguments.
'Tomorrow it will be a memory, so hold onto it while you can'
they tell me
'because living it once is better than loving it forever.'
"Dear Family,
I've written this letter over and over
only to stop at words that make me ponder something beautiful.
I think everyone would like it here, even if it's such a small
place. It has lots of secrets
that no one knows about. Lots of memories in this little place,
yes, lots.
It could always hold a little more, so if you'd
ever like to visit...
My room is just down the stairs and next to the bathroom."
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crazy