P.S.

×Wandaboi×

Poor kid is a mess;
Stressed and depressed
Can't never say
They mind is at rest;
Couldn't be bothered
Feelings all smothered
Can't show a real smile
For a bloodydamn dollar.
Can't call for help,
Lost in they head,
Tranna live life like
How them people said;
Confused and confounded
Constantly dumbfounded
By discoveries made 'bout
A couple of cowards;
Too scared to say
"Bro you're insane,
Bro please behave,
Bro you're a monster
Quit acting on fame."
What's fame to you:
A couple a words?
A couple a kids
Addicted with slurs?
Vulgarity, obscenity
Impoliteness and grit
You think that's fame?
Nah, that's bullshit.
I pray one day
You'll learn how to live
Unphased by the motives
Of those all up in your biz;
Hope one day you can
Open your eyes
To the future ahead of you
Which eliminates your fetish
For self-fucking-told lies.
You're just a star
Yet to be discovered,
A crown-bearer who's
Royalty will soon be uncovered.
The past is the past,
Forgive and move on
Yourself, that is, from the
Path of your wrongs.
Can't promise that you'll
Grow up a saint
But I know for a fact they'll
Respect your quaint.
Do what you like and
Daren't you hold back
'Cause I swear to the skies
You ain't no setback.

- Wandaboi ; 28/12/20