It is not easy
creating metaphors from these dusty roads, riders only care about how far it goes
Pick a punchline from the gutters, and throw it all on these dirty dogs that’ll never know how poetry flows through empty thrones
To every home
I was an open letter, yet still it was hard deciphering the postal codes, I was there dreaming designer at the local shops and open doors that had in built recliners
With line ups of mothers that hated my hair cut
To the clothes I wore and thus the war was on, some place to start
And they were grieving this long lost generation spitting cursing my choice of songs that sounded catchy
Like I was everything of all the things that were wrong with society, drilling and asking boring questions about my lifestyle and equations
Like the Devils plans were working
Claiming we never listened to teaching yet I was quiet while they was talking hoping lightning would strike me
And let it strike me if I’m wrong
I’m still here that means I’m not
Don’t look for me when my songs hit the airwaves, don’t wave or flash my phone
Don’t say you know my mama, don’t ask her to give you my number
Don’t tell the Lord to add where its from, because you hardly helped me out
I’m talking crazy, mouth is peppered
Don’t call me to no fundraisers,
I’m the seed that fell amidst the thorns and stench of societal breach
Got squeezed so hard I couldn’t breathe
I’m barely survived, suicidal kid sought quicker ways to eternal peace
This can’t be it, it shall not be
If I cross the line, I will pass my peers the rope and appear strong with power and might as well add hope
I realize the fate of us against the evil laws, when we received our thrashing on the large school lawns
But we still are here
Have you seen?
The interest to the discomfort we invested?
Where’s the bright future to which our childhood was loaned?
Does it sound so easy?
It is not easy