Sometimes I wonder what the world sees when it looks at me. Is it a poor boy living his dream or some other things taking the scene? If I strive to be myself, why do I listen to anyone else (um, ’cause you have bosses?). Should I just cut my losses? Run amok regardless what the cost is?
What do I see when I look at me? Just a kid striving toward a goal. A cool beard, a big mole? Am I ever going to reach my potential? Is that even essential? As long as I’m true to me, that the only thing I should be.
But I often struggle with myself. Arguing, fighting, more than anything else. To give up, just fall down and stay or continue to fight everyday. Nothing to show just got to grow. Thicker skin than ever before.
I look at you, you look at me. And I wonder what you see. Am I reflecting, projecting my faults on you? Do I need a place to go to? Just to relax and take a minute before I swim upstream back in it. Fighting and struggling tooth and nail. Does my skin look pale?
I hope I don’t come off as harsh, I don’t moderate my mouth. It just runs and doesn’t stop. My fingers type without a cop. To say, “Hey, watch your tone. Do you want to be alone?” But, I don’t worry what others think. [Maybe I shouldn’t write and drink.]
There’s too much hate in this world. Just love your neighbor (what do you rhyme with world?) and be yourself. Hopefully, they’ll get over themselves. Be respectful, helpful, courageous. Doesn’t matter what your age is.
We all have a part to play. Just by waking up every day. Don’t delay.
Get out of bed. Greet the morn. Oops, I think my sheets are torn. Got too excited, in my hurry to write and read and continue my journey.
But when I read it, I get stuck. Thinking that I suck. I can’t read it, not again. And mark it with red pen. So I read others’ work and hopefully am not a jerk. I just try to help them create the masterpiece that’ll leave others in its wake.
Don’t pull punches, tell it like it is. Love it, hate it, I can take it. I’ve got thick skin, it’ll burn again. Often, too, if I’ve got a clue. That’s why I write, to ignite passions, distractions, interactions. Maybe one day you will, too. I hope I see you in the sky of blue.
Riding your broom, causing a sonic boom. Scrawling messages to girls and their little dogs, too. Happy as can be though some call it atrocity. That’s not where I grew up. I’m from Michigan, pup. Near the D. In the land of the free.
Feel free to mock me put me down. I’m not afraid to be a clown. I’ll make you laugh, I’ll make you squirm, one day I’ll even learn how to heal a gaff and turn a rhyme on a dime. Until next time, I’m signing out. Not doing it with a shout, but with a whimper; it just seems so much simpler.