seeming a part of the scene
serence yet mean, inner city dreams
painting pictures of porches and torches
learning to see how others see me
dark (feel flowing seas, forest greens)
hard (baggy harem seams around my knees)
stark (the exposition of my condition)
a conscious composition of a dream
not femme, fragile, or familiar
backpack slung over my shoulder like a soldier
actions are bolder and colder in the hallway of the
institution of the students
they sweep us through like dust
'in God we trust'
as if 4 years is enough
for some to deicde they just wanna get high
we reply with a sigh that our days slip by
graduation is just a cloud in the sky
we know it's there but not why and we're
just trying to get by
so smoke some loud when you're thoughts are louder
of only trying to make mom prouder.
what about misfits
sittin' in lit class
sit and listen to the ticks pass
wait for that
only sountrack the
swish of the Amtrak
you'd never look back.
Login or register to post a comment.