Just my thoughts....

I take this pen like a shovel and I dig so deep. Paper wads wiped up so many tears oh the secrets I've weaped.

So many of them but none ever mine to keep kinda funny insomnia keeps me awake when I sleep, I can't even tell what's for real and what's a dream, besides so many times neither are what they seem.

I use these sheets to blanket me and bring me warmth and comfort, but at times underneath them also coldness is uncovered.

I can flatten it out and fancy make it look real neat but no one ever knows what really goes on underneath.

I spend so many nights in them some soiled some clean each their own timing holding me together in between.

Every syll'y and multi ambiguous meta, has a more defined meaning like puzzling together what letters.

Every verse points like a compass which direction my mind is heading sometimes I found the best ways of learning are also the most regretting.

Is regret even how I should say it's just another way of setting, some of us take the roughest paths to go where we're getting.

But I have my own GPS in my palm and through every storm there is always the calm, for every curse there is also a psalm.

See where I'm going? Most just think I'm blowing all I do is spit when i should be 'blowing' fuck that here's their advice, Keep Rowing!

Back to my sheets where I feel at home and at peace, not belonging anywhere else it seems I don't need anyone else on my team but your more than welcome than I may actually be deemed.

So here I am shoveling out all this dirt, so much happiness earned through hurt, they say I spit fire but I sing like a bird.

I guess perception is a pain, looking at my 'rap sheet' I'm actually very plain, but by the way the stains look musta had my blood drained.

Sometimes it does feel like I wanna set my notepads on fire, rip out every spiral an spinal with plyers, boil every ink drop and say fuck being a writer.

But it's just not me even if they say what I write's so sloppy or she sounds like so and so what a copy....

I couldn't care less, cuz it's a waste indeed if I spent even a dab of my energy on every 'time-lapse' who tried to 'body' spirit me..

I swear I wanna just stay in my own pages, cuz all these counterfeits be the one setting wages, when all I ever hear from them are some recycled phrases.

I'd pay you 2 cents to shut the fuck up, most of these judging are fake and stuck up, break others down cuz you fail to develUP.

Words really are weapons, intentions lessons, and questions, all their own meaning and ways they set in.

How many words can I fit in one paragraph, how many pairs can one have, like adding syllabal's is lyrical math, what ya hear about that?

Seems like most just want the credit on the cover none give a damn about what's up under, oh but they so quick to want the lightning and thunder.

S o I write boldly one name on this only, not like the Bible though it is hole'y, but I do remember everything those stories showed me.

Looks like a graveyard with so many thoughts I sifted through, seen so many chicken scratches I got scars from those too.

Not really any particular intent, don't seek understanding just a airway to vent, even if the facts are no one can ever comprehend.

Can't say I never tried to keep it together but loose leaf paper also floats like a feather and infected paper cuts only kill you when they fester.