...is not to fuck
or hate
or love
or even try to relate.
...it is to sow his seed
daily.
eventually to reap. And weep. And weep.....
When.
he discovers his plant after 100 days - it has grown now facing away from his sun.
Or.
When he discovers how 4 years of sharing a home with mom is nothing compared to raising a child for 18.
And beyond.
You see?
I am no man until I reap what I sow - fully. I sow my seed into bags of trash.
I am the refuse of society.
to work for wisdom or to live in denial... to sedate or to make this earthquake?
Kanye West’s true prodigy. Texan musicians never cease their speech. Travis Scott. Have you ever met him? His face disgusting. Yet he impregnates Kylie.
And I.
I was born pretty. For a reason.
I cannot walk into a room without someone being offended. Without someone clenching a fist. You wish to prove yourself strong? You can break my teeth. I won’t be able to speak but I’ll have thumbs to write.
Until you rip my fingers off by the nail. Slowly... I step.
In one direction. Daily. No beating around the bush. No rambling. No derogatory language. No proving a point. No debate. No hate. No love. No reason to die. Anything to live for...
I know my purpose. Do you?
It’s to find the perfect mate - the one to produce the perfect son. So that he may some day reap what he will sow.
My seed is growing in power but reducing in number.
Always.
My friends... my parents struggle to see. How I - a 19 year old man. How in the hell will I survive to 23? I need to go back into the New York City. In order to be a poet someone could relate to Longley. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Please.
I am not your Chris McCandless. I am not your Casey Neistat. I am not your Siddartha Gautama.
I don’t know, but that’s a good question to ask while I drift off to sleep. My dreams are empty because I live in my dream world.
Lucidly.
