I keep complaining that the words won't come
that i'll hold my nuts that I won't run
considered dumb when I sit by the way side, listening 2 the Pharcyde's
cant keep running awaaaaaaaaaay
so with my nuts in my hand I stay feeling like I don't stand 4 nuthin'
despite the prior events, I feel like somthing was taken from me
something precious and pure
yet I'm sure of the gaping hole in my soul where the blood water rolls on
and ancient african drum beats 2 long forgotten tribal songs ring ghostly everytime the wind blows by
asking the father of the sky why do i keep holding on 2 old pains
why can't i cry it out like the days gone by
it's not like I don't try but it seems like things have forced me 2 change
whether I wanted 2 or not
it's like my cozy spot wasn't suppose 2 get as cozy
that I was supposed 2 b a little more nosey went it came 2 my mind,body,and spirit
dealing with the same drama
dealing with the same shit
a stitch in time might have seemed fine when the rhyme felt more sublime than speaking the actual words
holding up my finger middles 2 the birds as if I was holding a pair of 6 shooters in both of my meatbeaters firing hot hostility like pair of seekers
me b the speaker, the thanker, and the the greeter while you just listen
If I'm writing in a new notebook or verbally addressing an audience with any mic I'm kissing
I give you my all
People call me a saintsinner and a beginner destined 2 never finish
they call me black judas 2 those who knew this
many a friendship has diminished
me being stubborn and all
but still i am the 1st 2 fall prey 2 those i deem stronger than me
when the Lord sees how and why does he keep loving, holding, and carrying me who am i 2 he
who am i 2 me
who am i 2 b when i get up in the morning 2 see a new day and my reflection because of recent events i really don't know myself anymore
:-)
posted by LaVone Burns @ 4:30 PM
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