I sit near the back of the plane as I try to explain how my life resembles a soaring freight train.
I’m on my way... please believe me.
I had to go because my destiny threatened to leave me. I’m so calm because they could never be me.
I have words for the tenderonies, but it’s hard to say goodbye to the homies. I’ll go to war for peace before I break a lease, and for this wrinkle, in time, I’ll make a crease.
Straightening things out after I six-figure them out sounds good in my bed, but somehow it still turns into a code red. I splurge on cocoa butter when I’m breaking bread and extra conditioner when change is looming overhead, but maybe I’ll bring out the blue magic instead. I said what I said while they were on meds, and now they’re... dead.
When they want to see blood, they act like family, so tell them the shots came from me. Buying rounds on friendly territory exposes enemies, so best believe I brought the big guns to the party.
My hair’s hardly in the wind, when innovation descends from heaven, I can’t allow my thoughts to be gone with it. I’m an orphan in this world, and I keep reminding the universe my life doesn’t don’t belong it. I’m a frustrated artist, and my masterpiece keeps begging for me to give up on it. Up until recently, most wouldn’t sponsor it, so I thought I was forcing it... like the force wasn’t in it.
Luckily, my Master Yoda keeps coming in clutch as I escape another rut. In the land of Starsky and Hutch sudden movements can send you flying, so I double-dutch when I see my mentors grinding.
At this point, all of my entries come in some form of poetry, using invisible symmetry, so you know it’s me. Poor work-life-balance was rushing me, but my best Hail Marys come when I’m hurried. Still, untold billions never heard of me, and that lowkey angers me.
I’m listening to Houstatlantavegas when So Far Gone seems so far long ago, yet I’m still on the go, and there’s so much I still don’t know.
“How will you do it?”
I ask God what his plans are as I try to look for hints in clouds. I grow exponentially from the amount of people who turn me down, because it keeps be me from being a clown. Painted smiles are worse than unearned crowns, and I wouldn’t be able to show my face in my town.
“Sit down”
I’m (literally) too big for my favorite britches, in a place of replacement that’s against my wishes. After a slew of accomplishments, I see people’s mood switches, but I’ve learned to embrace the resistance.
Band.
Before you make one, you have to know your instruments, and I’ve been taking private lessons from a distance. My life runs on each sentence, so I check my bags in every instance.