October 20, 2014 at 10:47pm
I made money off brains, not the nigga. I’d make more, I could figure, if the color was lighter and the history no trigger. Never one for tradition, I may listen to the same song over and over, until I get it. I may list the transgressions on a whisper, because I’m debted. I’m owed the cold from the sins reaped and sowed. I know, I know, we won’t go. We won’t six feet below. We are ghosts.
I saw you standing there in February. Peacoat over that figure, curves pulled my trigger, and I got all up in you with my eyes. When you hopped the train I whispered “goodbye.” I saw you a few more times, but never applied, because women don’t need strangers and my lust seems like danger when I’m inarticulate. Which is always, when I’m trying to get a little bit.
I get to wonder where you’re going and who you’ll be with when you get there. When you toss your hair, is that a nervous tick? When you want it, do you just ask a dude for that dick? Or do you play games? I’ve been through, like, seven different names, and I settled on Evelyn. You’re in to better men than me. You’re everything I see when I’m supposed to be paying attention. It’s like your face is an invention. All clean lines and symmetry.
This is a street dream. A scheme for staying happy, sans therapy. It seems I’m in love with a memory. This pays off emotionally, but it never pays what I’ll make all day.
September 25, 2014 at 9:56pm
Love of My Life
Be it not for the hustle, I’m in to too many things. Be it not for the hustle, I could have done so many other things. Being the best is no substitute for rest. You still hate yourself. You still hate the game you’re so good at. And everybody else hates and fears you, and the ones that don’t, think that they can buy you.
Be it not for the hustle, I could be satisfied. Be it not for the hustle, I could close my eyes. Love is in the air and I’m on my grind. I will never find it. I will never fill that void. It’s too big and the game is rigged. Consequences stack like money. I’m rich in mistakes and otherwise well off.
Be it not for the hustle, my dad would have been there. Be it not for the hustle, my girls would come up just like I did. Instead they get to bid half as much for twice the payoff. You can’t get laid off of being affluent. You can’t make rent when you own it. All I can hope is that their privilege forgives my absence.
Be it not for the hustle, I’m no digital rebel. Be it not for the hustle, I’m street level. Be it not for the hustle, I’d be honest. Be it not for the hustle, I might be modest. I might be different. I might be comfortable with all these people looking at me. I might ignore their judgements and feel good about my accomplishments. I might be happy, and you might see me exactly.
It’s a comfort when app devs are as excited about social login as I am.
Wait, people are STILL standing in line for iPhones?
If you are struggling with things that others seem to manage deftly, remember this: we are all hiding something.