I am eating pudding for breakfast and I am going to go see The Hunger Games with my sister now and I may die of excitement. BYE.
Till it hurts to concentrate
Stop me doing work I hate
And just to show him how it feels
I walk past his desk in heels
One leg resting on the chair
From the side he pulls my hair
Although I’ve been here before
He’s just too hard to ignore
Masculine he spins a spell
I think he’d wear me well
So where’s my morrow parallel?
It takes me
Half an hour to write a verse
He makes me
Imagine it from bad to worse
My waekness for the other sex
Everytime his soulders flex
The way the shirt hangs off his back
My train of thought spins right off track
Creative energy abused
All my lyrics go unused
And when I caught black hair blue eyes
I drift off I fantasize
So wheres my morrow parallel
“Are you okay?”
Do I look okay?
Did something terrible have to happen in order for me to feel like this?
“Why are you feeling this way?”
If I knew, do you think I’ll be “feeling” this way?
“Can you just look at the bright side?”
Can you just walk away?
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
Does silence now mean let’s talk?
If you did, you would leave me alone.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yea, I’m fine.”
And I sit, and I wait
Wait for another day to come
Come fast, come quick
Quick, like the drumming of my heart
Heart that keeps me alive
Alive as I am now
Now writing in a bound black book
Book I hope to publish one day
Day that goes on and on and never stops
Stops the world in it’s spinning
Spinning that makes me crazy
Crazy - well there’s a statement all by itself
Itself, myself, weself - wait that doesn’t make any sense
Sense, is that even a real thing?
Thing, scary movie
Movie, silent, The Artist
Artist, that’s who I am
Am. All I ever wanted to be.
Standing up in front and center with the mic in your face.
Bow your head and say a little rhyme.
Get up to the speaker and start to breathe.
One breath is all you need.
And then you spit.
“This may be the hardest thing you ever do
but you do it, right?
This might just be your one last shot
but you take it, right?
And while you fouls all look at me wondering
what the hell goes on in that head of hers?
I tick the mic like clockwork
And I rock the stage like Jagger
I punch the words from my verse
onto the amps which amplify the rants that go on in my mind
and seeing is believing when you see my mouth move to the rhythm of my beat
the beat that I treat is the the heart in my chest
and the words on the page are verses with age
cause these rhymes didn’t just appear
they were brought here by the lights in the dark
and the darkness of the lights”
And then I breathe
And I’m done.