CreativitysCreation's Blog

Your style is weak
But your spit is even slimier
Thank God they cleaned you up a bit
Before you got any grimier.

Dirty dirt is dirt
All the same and nonetheless
Thank God they cleaned you up a bit
Yes God, O’ God, did bless.

Self-proclaimed hard worker
Driving the whip even harder
“Karma’s a unfriendly woman,” they say,
And so are you.

Been doing it since the childhood,
I’ll eat what I put on my plate.

Been shoeing it through the wild wood
Action or inaction, both for each of our sakes.

Why things happen the way they do we might not know

And why the ants keep marching the way they do we might not see

But what’s for certain is that the weather changes

And with that change comes behavior

Of all ranges

Seen before or new

Break the cocoon and fly.

Back in the swing of things

For the first time in some time

No bat in hand, though

But new reason in the rhyme.

Probably should have gone Eminem by now, but I figured I’ve got too many peanuts in the gallery.

Wishy-washy, see that’s the best you got.

Would have known years ago, would have dropped you like you were hot.

Now we’re on the billboards on the highways for all to see

People slowing down just to get a better look at me.

Wishy-washy, see that’s the best you got.

Would have known years ago, would have ran before I was caught.

Won’t try to use the same words; I’ll try to switch it up.

Old school response to what, you answer “stuff.”

The new school’s taught me a thing or two, though.

Painted face on your rear end, fake, snake, and foe.

Never know which way you’re looking.

You can’t see feet in front of you but you keep walking.

Nobody eats the food you make, but you keep cooking.

You don’t listen to yourself, but you still keep talking.

Melodies up and down; chromatic sounds float through the air.

Beauty and love, that once played with care

Are wrinkled and twisted in looks of blank stares

Empty nods and loose jaws cocked to the side as saliva drips

Nurse Judy comes along and tells you to sip,

But slippery slopes often lead to slips.

Down and down you fall off the words of your very own lips.

Cluttered is what life is now.

Muttered words strewn across the floor,

Disarray in the midst of organized bliss.

Don’t miss the best part of this, though.

You know the answer without asking, yet you ask anyway.

Shuttered is what life is now.

A long run forgotten
Remembered only by the dull tread of the shoes
Blackened and worn by the steady beating of the pounds,
Sounds, and ground.
Muscles begotten unto earth’s own truths
All fighting for the same thing, round by round,
The body collapses:
One more relapse
Perhaps
He’ll walk again someday on the sun.

There’s no such thing as a mystery without wonder
And no such thing as being without matter.
But if we’re mysteries of being,
The wonder’s all that matters.