see, my problem is, i give a fuck
making other's misery mine
with psalms of Solomon, designed, to deliver us
or more so them, from where they're blind
never wanting another's pain to mirror mine
hearing chimes harmonize
on my climb to a charming life
with my momma's mind
setting an example, for the, more than a handful
who fail miserably, at delivering
falling like anvils
contributing to the death of chivalry
as Maker's makes its Mark on my liver, to stop the shivering
where would we be
without inspiring minds
or someone who leads, the ones who follow behind
who knows
me... i do what others don't, not for kudos
for my soul; & for you to believe there's hope
going noodles, relaxing my pen with passion when i doodle
relapsing like deja vu
attracting damsels that boo hoo
over guilt, spilled yoo hoo, or dreams unfulfilled
still, what would you do
if you could do what i do
you'd instill
now you understand why what i write's like a Bible
& why i share it with you to feel
it's for survival
someone who leads
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