For F**k's Sake

I'm no spoken word poet.

i will never write a song that moves the world.
and maybe that's okay.
i will never amount to anything that you,
or someone i know, or someone i don't
hasn't already amounted to, and gotten change for,
and maybe that's okay too,
because every single time i open my room's only window
to sip night air that never forgets to taste sweeter
than any cocktail in the universe made with hours that came before,
i remember to remember that somewhere out there
is a guy, or a girl, or a kid, or a dream
that i know, or that i don't
who's got my back on this one.

i could have your back too, if you want.
and maybe that's okay sometimes,
but you need to stop looking into every mirror that catches your
infinitely gorgeous, effortlessly perfect,
don't-need-no-goddamn-colored-contacts eyes.
i promise you that no heart ever broke without acoustic guitar,
and even the ones that did got to tell stories to people in bars
like war heroes talking about how they got their scars
to folk that couldn't do a hell of a lot less than be fascinated.
so smile, and try a little harder to take my word for it
when i say that you're beautiful for it,
and that the world is better for it,
and that you can take that $20 you were gonna spend on some s**t you didn't need
and give it away to the first stranger that smiles back at you.
you'll be better off by the time you're done explaining yourself
and they aren't a stranger anymore.

honestly, i don't even remember if we had a prom queen,
but trust me, you will never in your life be better served by makeup
than sunscreen.
and i know this is starting to sound like it was written for every girl
who has fought tooth-and-nail to over-complicate something so simple as life,
but that's only because my only advice to the guys is of the incidental,
pathetically simple,
shouldn't-even-need-to-be-said variety:

maybe you're like me, and maybe you aren't.
maybe you'll write that song that moves the world,
and maybe you won't.
maybe you already have,
and all my rambling, hopefully-not-too-terribly-incoherent,
stream-of-kind-of-consciousness, heavy-handed bullshit
will spend its entire existence waiting on doorsteps
unnoticed by everyone listening to your music too loudly to hear it knocking.
but one way or the other,

for f**k's sake, don't be an a*****e.

Reviews

[Robin]

I got your back ..

I don't know If I will ever write the song to move the world , or maybe I have it hidden . and that sunscreen advice .. prom queen or wallflower ( damn tangents thought streams) take heed .. and man , listening , sure is different than hearing ..

a poet you are .

[roarke]

It funny how hearing a street performer or a musician out on the fire escape improvising can stir emotional, reminiscent feelings from any who happens to hear them. It's a story, it's prose, it is the universe and reflects everything that's in it. Writer's use words, musicians use harmonic vibrations, it's all life.

Complexity, simplicity, a******s...... it's in every mix everywhere. Probably because we don't really see what's in front of us and all around us. Maybe it's that we don't really see, 'us'.

I once knew a woman in college that used to spend part of her time in ceramic class squishing her fingers in the clay slurry in the reconstituting sink. She'd just be in the room, squishing clay between her fingers, smiling in a wistful, spacey state of mind. She didn't spend a lot of time making pottery. Just experienced everything around her and inside of her in those minutes she swirled the muddy water and played with that soupy clay. My life was too complicated and too arrogant to get it.... life, the universe, it's always all around us, we just need to recognize it more.

keep squishing the word clay V.B.

[NoneOfYourBusiness akaK..]

the last sums up the unpeeling above it perfectly~ should be subtly or not so subtly inserted into guidebooks between lunch and health as soon as the first arrow is aimed by wicked cupid~
that's why we gendered things are always ay each others throats~ the degreed overthinkers have complicated it all for us with their s****y self help books that I don't see helping nobody cuz it is basically all bullsh*t~ our cells and chemistry remember how to dance just fine without any advice from unhappy flobs with big vocabularies who are almost always relationshipless~(i have to stop making up words and sewing suffixes where they don't belong lol)

GREAT poetic offering~!

[John Jackson (El Juero)]

Sincere, from the gut of a brilliant mind, truth. I love it.