Deuces to My Violence
“I found peace in your violence
Can’t tell me there’s no point in trying
I’m at one, and I’ve been quiet for too long”
I tend to find myself at a crossroad.
If you go right, you'll be thought of wrong.
If you go left, you'll think of yourself weak.
There was never really any other option.
Woke up at odds.
I wish all of my kindness could add up to a certain amount of understood weakness. Where the wildness was left up in the air, recklessness was chalked up to youthfulness, and anger was just an explanation. Exuberance was lost in a drought of desire, and motion was the odd-man left confused by immovable mountains and unstoppable trains.
Echoed breathes and anxiety riddled beats.
A little action & a lot of rampin'
Up.
Red tinted glasses making masta' wishin'
those chains were kept.
Just a little longer.
But it wouldn't matter, I'm tired.
Intentions lost in executions.
In all honesty, I go about things incorrectly. If all actions were pure, and every conscious thought not righteous, then maybe things would spread smoother. Maybe if I wasn't so focused on the moral to be learned, I'd pick up a few things from walking the trail. But, too often do I feel spread thin with plenty of half-stretched helping hands. Those before me say to just let it shine despite what's coming out of their 808's - I'll go ahead and quote someone greater than myself. "Meh." And I'll follow it up with another quote.
“From there to here. And here to there. Funny things are everywhere.”
I search for humor, because I feel that humor is hard to find. It's easy to be around. Easy to view with the right medias. And maybe you do sincerely chuckle at it. But, how often are you laughing at the ugly. Pretty fucking often. It's not on the spectrum of low-hanging fruit, but it is on the spectrum of wheel-chairs, stutters, lisps and limps. That's how roses grow out the concrete. And concrete are these idealistic obstacles that tell us "no." Solid and idealistically immovable. But, how often is concrete the first indestructible to be torn away from remodeled lanes when trying to rebuild. It's always the first. Cognitively, and physically. Jackhammers to Jackalopes. Because ideas are meant to be fantasized, forgotten, and forged again. No matter how ridiculous, or mythical. Steal, salvage & sell all the copper. Leave the foundation ripened for new ideas to sprout through.
Peace was found with my violence,
You found ridicule.
We both went home - I was empty,
I'd like to think you were depleted,
But that'd be a lover wishing for a fighter's emotional spoils.
I'd rather push, than shove.
To push is to promote,
Shoving only inspires itself.
So I'd like to take this moment to say deuces to my violence. A newly woven motif where I don't leave emotional casualties. A split decision done right between humorous gambles and the risk that comes with the chipping of other's ego blocks. A sculptor that never tampers with the marble of neighbors. I'd really like to do that. To say that. Sincere moments are far and few in between though. It'll still come off wrong. I'll still say cunt. You'll still be an unwilling recipient. It's the equivalent of saying that bullshit phrase, "I'm sorry that you feel that way." I'm somewhere in between that quote and cliché and a stereotypical early 2000's RnB songs. Preferably Usher over R. Kelly. Confessions type narrative sans pregnant bitches. Not entirely sure where my humanity leaves my stylistic bullshit. Even less sure of the authenticity of the before mentioned apology. I feel guilt. I just want to acknowledge that I'm not the easiest. But what I am, is a work in progress. So I'll go ahead and pass out hoping that I have enough sense to remember learned goals. And that I'll be able to earn forgiveness. "Sam-I-Am" type of due diligence & taste. Bets upon verbiage & character development. Deuces, Seuss.
I used to think,
That you'd run away.
Figure things out to where you'd be O.K.
That ain't life though mother fucker. There's not always a verse afterward that sounds dope. I mean...they'll be options, but they won't fill the void better than silence. But who has the self control to let that void go? I'll tell you who. Un-funny mother fuckers. And while I may swing and wind up with the occasional miss - remember all those hits where you laughed at someone else's expense.
“Sometimes the funniest thing to say is mean. You know what I mean? It’s a tough position to be in. So I say a lot of mean things. But you guys gotta’ remember - I’m not saying it to be mean, I’m saying it to be funny. And everything is funny, until it happens to you.”
