I find most things in my life to be absolutely temporary.
And the good things tend to last an even shorter duration of time.

…so don’t fucking ask me why I’m so good at leaving.
I never had plans to stay to begin with

I had a kid today say, “Technically, I owe my life.”

He’s a very close friend of mine (cuz I’m not on the random-lifersaver level yet, my writing ain’t THAT good)

But he said it.
And I had to take a step back.
I didn’t even know how to react to it.

But picking up a pen changed his life.
For the better.
And honestly, I was just aware of the pretty bad, harmful and ineffective ways he dealt with emotions and put him on to what works for me.

Like, a friend recommending a good razor to use
Or recipe swapping or some shit

It was a simple gesture, that expanded into a lifestyle
Craft
Hobby
Title
It was until just recently I actually took a step back from the competitive nature that surrounds my improvement to take a look at what I’ve done so far.
The effect that writing/performing in general can do, for both the audience and the performer
Sometimes people get so caught up in what they have left, they don’t spend time to look back at what they’ve already accomplished

There could be a fucking mountain back there!

I’ve got a long way to go to perfect my craft.
But I’ve come a long way from the sputters of Trisha in 2008….

I think I’m going to go back into competition

I’ve strayed away from slam long enough.

Re-edited and shit

[Untitled]
CJ

I’m a hoarder
This,
Isn’t a confession, this is a confession.
I’m not asking for forgiveness, Priest
I’m asking for the least painful punishment, Detective
Funny, how the same words consequences can be so polar

I love you
Now doesn’t this phrase run parallels?

On most days when you walk into my bedroom
A geisha
And leave sloppy,
Reeking of cold showers and nicotine.

Somewhere in between
“I’ve been expecting you.”
And the silence after our goodbyes
The moment of hesitation
And denial in my eyes

I don’t love you enough for a proper kiss
Just enough to be jealous of your next possessor

I’d rather hold you
Keep you in the corner of my love life than admit I’d be better off removing you.
Letting you sit
Top shelf thrift for the highest bidder who finds you beautiful
Who finds you,
Treasure
On another mans curb
To put more sentiment to you than I ever could

I’m in college now
And early morning texts are more “Where are my heels?
Than “How do you feel?”

It feels like a godless crusade
A stillborn
Or pointless patience waiting at the altar
For a bride who you know will never arrive
It feels like that empty aisle

And the moment you realize everything has been for nothing
That you were made, brain over heart for a reason

It feels like the brush of mist against your skin during a 5AM walk home
And the shell casing you’ve become when your corpse finally finds your bed
It feels, the same way you did
When you waited for the bus alone
The same way I did when I locked the door behind you and pressed my forehead against the glass

We would watch the sun set from my bedroom
The walls, glowed of oranges and reds

There hasn’t been enough small talk to fill the room as of late.
So I fill them myself
With skeletons
Boxsprings and backbones

I’m a hoarder
And I’m numb
My skin has forgotten what to feel
So I’m reminded, every time I’m inside of yours

My mattress, knows nothing of love
And everything of murder
My body count, is nothing to be proud of
This is a confession

Coming and leaving have become synonymous
I’m just as good getting undressed as I am putting my clothes back on
I have too many scars to be
Naked
Honest
And beautiful
So please choose two

All metaphors aside
It’s been hard to find a girlfriend
When you’ve got so much to hide
And nothing left to give
Except regrets from a memory that has nothing to do with them

I’m a hoarder
Of feelings
Trapped inside of skin

And my confession, will never make amends.

Oh, and on a highly superficial and utterly hilarious note

I re-watched the videos with my boy
#Team1080p

They’re funny as FUCK son!
And now every time I go to work, I’ll be laughing my fucking ass off.

Aaaaand
It was that half an hour moment of constant hysterics that deeply saddened me,
Cuz I’ll be in Rochester for the majority of my summer…

And meanwhile, in the real world (NYC)
My brother, most of my artistic collective and most of my college friends will be 21
In the city
In the wonderful weather
With multiple cars
…I’m not even gonna address the women -_-

And I’ll be fulfilling major requirements I couldn’t take at home because UofR wants to be “special” and shit.
Bleh.

I wanna blast French Montana out my brother’s speakers with the windows rolled down
Utter belligerent, gang-related shit
Convince Mike to cheat on his fiance #justkidding #OrAmI? #noseriouslyjustkidding
Speed down the FDR back to Brooklyn in a Beamer
Go on a few missions.
#SharkMode and shit (Yeah ANDRE!)

I guess roadtripping to Florida in a few weeks will make up for a bit of this
But still

Brooklyn is my home.
The City (Bronx and Queens included) is my playground.
And in less than two weeks, I won’t be remotely close to either.

You’re supposed to fight for what you want.

But I didn’t speak a word of it.
Because I know it’s a battle I’ll lose.

Because I know it’s a battle I’ll lose.

Because I know it’s a battle I’m scared to lose.

Because I’m scared to lose that battle.

Because I’m scared to lose you.