This is just something I wrote one nite when my mind was wondering
. . . All grammatical mistakes are only mistakes if you don't look further
“Who Am I.
I Am the Outcast.
The Kid who stays after class for help but still manages to get nothing done.
The Kid who talks to his self for fun.
Friends. . . It's not that I Have none at least I hope not.
It's just that My Homies don't completely know me, & there's no one better than the one you run. . .
With art is the only way I stay sane, & even with it my mind still plays the guessing game.
Talking in the mirror to myself, attempting to control the demons.
Thinking of Life, and if I’m Living it rite.
What's our true destiny, why am I Breathing
Who’s responsible for all of this, to them should I Ball my fist.
Jesus
It’s not that I don’t believe in him, or at least whom & what he stands for.
I Just believe you don’t need to associate yourself with A “God” to be Godly
I don't like going to church because no one has videos of Jesus.
First hand, why should I listen to a random righteous man below god.
Since the Devil is deceiving how do I know he's not the one preaching.
How do I know he is not the one who has weaved the basket that collects my green weeds of evil.
If I am told not eat a sinful apple, and so I do not, but instead I scratch my head.
I pick a pear have I sinned.
A pear that I hear is pain filled.
A pear that could possibly give me a cavity embedded with poisonous seeds.
Seeds that would encrust my tongue in diamonds.
Allowing me the ability to write riddles within minds, & mesmerize without rhyming.
A fruit which begins to flood sweet puss when sliced.
A fruit that only hypnotizes your sixth sense, if it's present.
A fruit that delivers lust in popping unique seductive segments.
Enticing as if it was a wrapped present, but also mysterious enough to inflict fear even if there was none previously present.
The conscience in my ear tells me don't be scared, pick the pear.
