open letter to my landlord...truestory.

i'd like to thank you for motivating me to wreck some shit tonight, cause wiht my heartstrings stretched this tight i've got some impulses i'm not even gonna try to fight.

I'm getting evicted? well i was sick of every cent that i make going to rent and i hate your constructed concept of property.

See, i'm a good guy with a bad side and a bad habit of letting shit slide... but you're offering me endentured servitude and profiting from my basic needs... and living's getting pricey in the land of the free...

And i'm tired. Not the tame tried tired of too many sleepless nights... not even the well earned walking dead swagger won by working well past weary... no, i've been burning the candle at both ends... and stress is my only consistant friends... and that's some kinda suped up butane...

but get this. see... i'm going to cross beating the system off my wishlist... let simply surviving become my big fist... and let anybody come to stop me.

see, i've got a bottle and a rag... and thats the only reason this bike kid'll buy gas... and that's the only reason to rock Xs and strike a match... well, and cause it's fucking cold out.

Because did i tell you? I'm gonna move into a treehouse... consider this my peace out, and i don't really see how i missed this bus before... because it's cold, but i've got blankets and the tree house just sits vacant, and home's just what you make it.. so i'm gonna make it.

And BEFORE YOU DECIDE I"M CRAZY...

I'm still going to have this ink in my pen, and i'm still gonna have the help of my friends... and in the end...

I'd rather write those rent checks to the stars... stay warm, chuckin' bottles and spittin bars... so, take your heat, your rent, your walls... i've heard my call to wreck them all.

I've found sweetness in my sleeplessness... learned we're not alive till we're exhausted.

So thanks again for stretching me tight.
o i could find my peace in a tree.

Aces and thanks

Girl, you're fuckin' up my poetry.
Cause with you sittin' there i can hardly see,
and I'm spittin' here, but i can hardly think...

bout anything but gettin us some coffee to drink,

bout anything but how i'm gettin close to the brink,
of breakin my silence baby and racin' for pinks...

And if we're playin for keeps, i don't plan on defeat,
the way you're rockin' them jeans girl, I'm prepared to cheat...

and i've got aces and sleeves and moves you wouldn't believe,
so i say we should bounce baby and just let your skin breathe...

Cause clothes are over rated, Girl our Souls are naked, and i wanna get to know yours, with no restraints kid...

And I've got plans for when you come undone,
let your legs encase tongues until you're speakin' in tongues,
I'll take you to heaven baby, chase you right up the rungs...

And I'm all about you gettin' yours...
i'm all about kickin mad base behind closed doors,
i'm about tearin up floors, 'bout shakin' up cores,
'bout how we'll keep this up till we can't take anymore...

Until our hips meet, and we face defeat,
of both you and me girl, cause we just made a we...
So sit back and breathe, while i restock my sleeves...

i've got my aces and thanks girl,
now i'll take my leave.

dont think this is done... we'll see where it goes tho.

We're labeled dead peasants while we wax poetic to combat their rhetoric and the evils that spread it.

Fox news doesn't fancy poetry.

I'm presenting to you two separations of self, the motivation of wealth, or the realization your net worth, is worthless... the meaning of life y'all, is purpose.

because people, our country's not sick 'cause of health care, and people aren't poor cause of well fare. We spout hope, or care, as if it's breath of fresh air... but still come up short. As if our system's so worth saving.

and, you've all heard me spittin mother fuck religion, fuck capitalism, shit, all types of -ism... but this is different.

cause we're now talking about intent.

and I've been raised up in the reddest of the red, with a youth full of dread of what may come when i'm dead... But now, me, and some liberated heads, we skip water and bread... because our sacrament is poetry.

(and taken weekly... it expediates sin)

And we rock dread locks and punk rock and have more midnight walks than matched socks... cause fuck it... socks get holes... and watchin the sun hit antelope island before you've gone to bed... y'all, that sun can make you whole.

and that sun shines in the city of salt sometimes and it's shine in the city puts a beat in my heart... and i find my peace with the poetry in the beats, and when the words that i speak move your heart, or your feet. See, I spit, to spread a message. I spit because i'm blessed enough to find diamonds in the rough, of my fellow dead pesants. Of these other Red state residents... Of these poets who wear their prose on their sleeves... and it beats and they bleed... Because they're living for their intent to put beauty into words, to Breathe deep, and spit cures...

without ever once thinking if whoever it helps, is gonna be able to afford it.

Because our country is sick cause of apathy... but passions like poetry are the only hope we see, so come on and hope with me...

And spit cures.

i wrote a lymrick... who does that?

You lips light up my life when you smile.
Double my beats per minute for miles...
And there aint nothin' wrong,
with another fly love song...
So come on, lets sing for a while.

havasu

I seek a little alliteration while the water cascades, but the pen tries my patients and my coherence fades...

Slowly shimmering silhouettes of wet water falls... and the blue pools below them beckon and call...

I'm wet but woeful... i wanted to wade with you. But the water brings solace, it's beautiful in havasu...

The water's blue, frigid, and crystal clear... I close my eyes, and wish you were here.

The truth to the lack of poon.

I've tour'd the fjord, and been bored in borea.
I've HK'd and Gank'd... and spam'd trade for arenas.
I lvl'd pvp... but got sick of QQ...
So transfered PVE to pay my raid dues...
And before you ask... yes i waited in line...
and the day after wrath drop'd, my DK was lvl 59.
bit the day after that, i was back on my main,
Switched spec's and gear sets...
now epic DPS's my claim to fame...
And fuck yeah, we've got maly, and sarth +2
That's right mother fucker, my guild's better than you
And yes, i wrote this poem, to explain why i don't get laid...

But i've gotta cut this shit short... I'm late for my raid.

fuck you. And starbucks.

I'm a barrista bitch, i brew bold black brews. I do caffeine consumption like fox fabricates news.

I'm vegan, but i'll still give your bitch my bone, if she brought you to the show tonight, you can walk your ass home//and cry about it while you beat your fist... like Michael Jackson after he watches Oliver Twist.

I'm a vegan, straight edge, anarcho-feminist. Which makes me a hypocrite if you bought into anyathis.

But thats okay, i write these poems to play with... mediocre shit, that i hope to get laid with.

and don't knock it man, it worked one time... i'm too shy to talk to girls, so i rhyme...

Let them be the ones to break the ice... then drop mad game 'bout how their hair looks nice...

Then at the end of the night, i'll still go home alone, and shoot your mom a call on my cellular phone...

cause i'm serious when i say that i get no play, and if i want it my way, sometimes i gotta pay//and your mom's a cheap treat that can't be beat and i'm better off than beatin my meat...

Okay. I get it. I took this joke further than most... SOoo tip the barristas and thank the host...

And big ups to Baxters... oh, and i got one last thing to say...

Buy some coffee mother fuckers. and have a nice day.

pick up... your mom.

**i'd like to preface this with a bit of a disclaimer that the first line was a bit of a joke between me and a friend... plz don't take offense, none was ment. in fact... this whole poem, is a joke.

I stand before you today to say he's gay, and i'm well on my way... not to the same shit, but the oposite, not straight, but without a date, with no desire to procreate...

and not to hate...

on any women, girls, or sluts... Just to bust nuts, against knuckles, and nothing more.
cause sure i'm all for,
zero population growth...
But really, I need an excuse.

Cause while i keep my eyes on the prize between your thighs that makes you sigh oh my oh my...

I need a reason. Some kind of logical treason why i stand heavin', breathin', believin'... that I'm destined to remain celibate. Aw, ta hell with it.

See, i don't buy into that shit, that it's not legit to hit it...

But i also don't like sleepin' around.

BUUuuuttt.... sometimes i like sex for sex... just like sometimes i go to work just to earn checks... not to say i don't love what i do...

Just to come true with my motivations for this revelations, that sometimes i don't have the patients for relationships...

SOMETIMES, i just wanna bust hips against hips... Or lips... Whatever.

whatever's clever...

Whatever's the cure for all the shit you've endured...

couldn't be half as much fun as the hell we could raise, just by spreadin our legs, and passin the days...

So what do you say...

Wanna get laid?

illiteration is serrrius bisnus

Seriously sweetheat... i'm salivating.

Sometimes i swear you secrete sucrose. Other times, NaCl tho...

But sugar sweet or salty seas... i see scenes of ceremonious singalongs... just you and me.

i told them going vegan's the most revolutionary thing you can do... short of falling in love...

Cause the revolution won't be fought by firing a gun, but you fight the revolution each time you make somebody cum... you build a bond between you that'll never be undone...

but i didn't write this to talk about fucking.

Recent delves into the realm of expression, where i remain seated the speachless exception, gave me a chance for introspection, and my reflection's got me wondering...

Like, why would i choose clothes with holes rather than logos.

or why do i carefully consider every morsel i masticate...

Or why do i sit in my seat while others put heat to thier cancer stick treat...

Or why would i chose a can, over a bottle.

cause that's love.

and not the type you clean off the seat, the type between b-boys and break beats... between vegans and fake meat... the type, that leaves you breathless.

And i'm not talking exclusively about the reckless mutany in the form of aerosal art...

I mean, all art for art's sake, not for corperate intake.

I'm talking poets who find solace in starving to death...

I mean MCs who freestyle on street corners over... *beatbox*... intstead of fucking fuity loops.

I mean screen print artists, who hang their art in urban galleries... ... with wheat paste.

I'm talking food, i grew and cooked myself... Now that's love...

and with it... maybe that expression can once again stand for something...

cause sitting speechless and wondering... felt too much like doing nothing... when there's a whole world, and you've got your whole life... for loving

cuz

i'd be lyin to say i didn't realize, the friends of yours all specialize in influencing minds t'ward euphoric times and euphoric crimes, i seen warnin signs i was never blind, in fact you'll find, in the heart of my rhyme, i'm scared. i think i mighta saved you, but i never dared, now i'm stuck wonderin how i coulda cared, but still did nothin

Your dad called, he can't find you// what do i say, knowin the bullshit that i do?// your dad's gotta know what i told him was untrue// cause i left out the part 'bout smokin bud after high school// with that weight on my conscience, it's my heart i just lied to// With that weight on my conscience in my heart i cut ties too// and i sit back alone with that wet shit that eyes do//cause all i can think is of memories of us two// and as memories go, all i know is there's too few// so i try and i try to make myself hate you// and forget the good times we had with the old crew//but i'm lyin inside cause it's love that i owe you// So if you ever need me you know that i feel you//but i have to live right and it's me that i'm true to//so cousin of mine, just dont forget that i love you.

dies es un machina

when i was little, i was taught a game. i was like 4 years old, i don't remeber the name, but it went... here's the church, and here's the steeple,

but then it stopped.

cause i opened the doors and the people were evil, and their version of jesus isn't one of jehova... just one who wants tithes and to fuck people over... and they couldn't tell me why two of my best friends in the world... are going to hell, just cause they don't like girls...

And i did read the bible, and tho i don't speak hebrew... i did see the part that said, you should fuck like we do... but i also saw a part about stoning your wife... and a god that needs tests with your son and a knife...

and you look at my friends, and say they're unnatural? well they are, if it's patriarchy you're trying to sell... Because believe it or not, there's money in gender roles... you really think some old white fuck cares what you do with your genitals?

It's bad enough what they do behind closed doors... slippin' sneakers under bathroom-stall doors on airport floors... Or in Alaska, where they send short eyed preachers... pass them off to indigenous people who accept them as teachers?!

so no, your god isn't necessarily a crutch, but it's ignorant as fuck to ignore the clutch and role he's played in creating, and perpetuating bigotry.

and yes, i'm an athiest... but if i believed in a god, it wouldn't be part of your masoganistic facade... it'd be a god who valued things like honor and integrity... cause those are the things that i value in me...

instead, these religions seem to value hypocrisy... and the things that they do, are all about money... and that's something, i hope I'll never be... so i stay anti-religion... And god free.

work in progress

I'd like to thank you... for motivating me to wreak some shit tonight.
With my heartstrings stretched this tight, i've got some impulses i'm not even gonna try to fight.

See i'm a good guy, with a bad side, and a bad habit of letting shit slide... but after tonight... i'm gonna break that bad habit... and it'll be the last thing i ever thank you for.

Because frankly... i'm exhausted.

Not that tame tried tired of too many sleepless nights... or even the well earned waking dead shamble won by working well past weary...

No, picture burning the candle at both ends...
with blowtorches,
and girls, or bad friends...
well... they're some kinda suped up butane,
and conversations with em's, a constant strugle with the profane,
and your name...

aint shit.

Just the fuckin match.

A match... something you and I never were...

But the bad ones have a tendency to come back around,
and hit me up, when my defenses are down.

and rebuilding those walls, is what'll finally do me in.

so, fuckem.

I'm gonna fill the fractures with the freedom i find in expediating the process.

i'm gonna tear them down. Wreck shit all around. I've found, new girls and friends and these mother fuckers are down. And fuck candles... our fuel burns cities to the ground.

and we're finding sweetness in our sleeplessness... and we wont feel alive, until we're exhausted.

So thanks again. For tonight. For stretching me tight. For the motivation.

Cause snappin...

has been pretty damn good for me