Fourth Thursday

Hey Kid,

How has things been for you?

I brought a gift this time, hoping to sooth my mind,
since last time I brought something, it withered;
without warning, the gift wept it petals away,
slipping to the ground like the words I want to say.

Since, I've made work from wordplay.
I've made money off sound, beats blast the ground
and every time that bass pounds, I get rounds
even though it's so understandable that

every dollar feels like another inch sold
to the highest bidder, centered around a
quest to the stars that can't be achieved
but is promoted by everyone who believes

in me.

Heh

Funny, isn't it?

The art of being second best has always been
my mastery, my pallet, my brush and canvas.
Stanzas may be my speakers, but
lines will never make base

Breaks will never be the treble, but they make
me tremble. I keep stumbling on words that
I should know, making up lines and words as
I go. (Misunderestimated.)

Somehow, people believe in me,
invest in the second best like it will overtake
the best and make haste to a finish line
and cross the ribbon at the last possible time

Yea, right.

Things aren't the same

It's not like when we were kids,
poppin off at the jaws whenever anything
went wrong, swinging fists and crying
over the people we missed

Until our eyes burned from being so dry
that we'd feel more pain by being unable to cry
all we knew how to do was live
but it was only a matter of time

before some of us learned how to die.

Now, we wear reminders of the fine
soldiers with no war, but refuse to
acknowledge that fighting opened
the door for us to be slaughtered.

Now, it's just us.

Best friends.

Holding onto memories that connect
and heal the worst wounds from the
hand to the chest and back to
the knee and the back.

I know you can't speak back,
but you can hear me.
Probably saying that I should
stop tripping off the little shit

and focus on the big fish.
Get the big hits,
fight the good fight and forget
the last wish

of anyone who wanted me to carry
the burden. Yea, I'm hurting, but
pain is short lived (ironic, huh?)
and eventually, it'll pass

Wounds heal. The scars on my body
may remain, but only as a way to mark
the lessons I've learned on my frame,
not as a way to mark pain.

Yea, we're not the same.

I'm still one step behind.

I'm still here, you're not.

How am I supposed to pass you if you're not...

Oh...

I get it...

I'M still here.

You're not.

*sigh*

Thank you.

(next time, I'll bring red flowers, Elysia would like that! Keep watching, I have a lot left to do)