The Chalkboard

I've got a whole lot of names,
marked with "DO NOT ERASE",
and just staring at em now,
it just seems funny.

We were suppose to be friends,
and get over the bends,
but somewhere along the road,
it all went runny.

And while we still cross paths,
we don't share stories, or the laughs
that we once did so simply,
no coat of honey.

So while we still play this game,
I have a new place for my names,
so I'll leave this old list here.

See ya, dummy.

Don't fake it till you make it

I'm suppose to care,
to stand up and be aware
that if it's even just one hair out of place,
it's a sin.

If I be myself in public,
that others will start to nitpick
at that one in hundreds just for some
superficial win.

I'm suppose to make a face,
to look angry when out of place,
because otherwise I'm some wuss to be stepped on,
not a kingpin.

So I must show you're worth the time
to make up some silly rhyme
to excuse my look and actions and be comfortable
in my skin.

...

This is not the first time that I've broken a pattern,
nor will it be the last, because I prefer the flat turn,
not the slow curve that the cautious might discern
as how life goes when we stick with a slow burn.

I'm not
illegible I'm incorrigible but you know what you're getting when you look at me:
A book in the making, not down for the shaking, if you want the ingredients, then just look and see.

You can
set up your pyres, try your best to lite fires, you can try to tear apart who I am,
but your efforts mean nothing, your harsh words, all bluffing, I'll still the cat who don't give a damn.

I've just
had it to here with the hate and the fear that I have to act out when it's just not real
I'm not some stone-hearted golem, I'm really quite solemn, it's just that your words don't make me feel.

So just,
get off your high horse, find a way to be less coarse, and maybe, one day, try to be sincere,
cause you're lying to yourself, if you think to find wealth from trying to take someone else's cheer.

We're all
here for a reason, and to be us isn't treason to whoever made rules that said don't be you,
so just let it all go, let the uniqueness flow, and just try to find happiness for others being true.

Perspective

I don’t really know who you are,

I know that fate crossed our stars,

I’m gonna take what you gave, and run with it.

You saw I needed a friend,

I’ll never see you again,

So I’m gonna take what you gave, and run with it.

You just walked into the night,

and though it doesn’t feel right,

I have to take what you gave, and run with it.

I hope time treats you well,

and thank you for breaking my hell.

I’ll keep you in heart as I run with it.

Keep on Keeping on

Are we wrong to keep moving on?
To keep our chin up when everything's wrong?
Even when voices have faded, to just march along?
Eyes wide shut to everything, keeping headstrong?

We keep ourtearstoourselveswestrugglerwedelve
weknowpainaswedelvefurtherintolife

We keep marchingonjustsingingoursong
asifnothinghaseverreallychanged

We just can'tslowdownwesaybecauseweknowthatoneday
we'llfindoutselvesatadistancefromeveryone

But it hurtsnonethelessaswegiveitourbest
justtoseeanotheryoucaredforbehurtandwronged

It's not wrong, to keep moving on,
we need keep our chin up, to try and keep strong,
We can only hope to help others be safe and march along,
and hope that those that are hurt will keep being headstrong.

Wash, rinse, never repeat, Repeat

I want a witness.
Someone who can list this
as another mental escapade
and not just a sickness

that I'm dealing with,
not just pleading the fifth
of a country I don't stand for
because I try to be a wordsmith.

The thought, ridiculous,
though I see my mind meticulous,
the questions come again and again,
a loop, simply asynchronous.

I try to break from the pattern
find solace from this cavern
avoid that peak astern
focus instead on what to learn

But it always comes back to this,
a set of rules kept, iron fist
to a mind that tries to break free
to freedom that may be taking piss.

It's always stuck on misery,
of why I keep insanity
a valid option needing reason
to go and point and say, "that's me".

It's a matter of being self-aware,
to realize life isn't fair,
that every punch you throw at it,
is another blow I need prepare.

And though I wish to drop the knife
to not live some sort of battle-life
my mere soul inspires strife
reasons to shield, I've had rife

Each victory comes with taste of lime
that simply leaves me with the grime
that finds me alone, again and again,
a poor existence for killing time

in a darkness I call my friend
for any other seems to bend
around a past self I once was,
instead of my reality in the end.