To Whom It May Concern,
Life is but a blur that most struggle to grasp
A lot of should of, would of…but did not
Could not comprehend the yellow brick road that paved your path
Caught up in the tsunami of fantasies, that living your reality becomes the tragedy
Everybody always feels they know best…but to follow their own advice is the test
The individual soul never appeared so dull in our generation
Mass production of Mattel Barbie’s and Hippies to do the bidding of Mass Media
Yet you chant the word…Originality
Research your style on Google; see where you fall on the list of thousands similar
You never thought of being a follower, but now the term looks familiar
I’m sick and tired…
Talk is for the cheap and actions are privileged to the rich
Your quest for love now makes you a hypocrite
Before you could never be that girl…
Calling her a variety of synonyms that resonate with dumb
Yet your endeavors place you in a similar situation
All of a sudden your mind and her mind think alike
I guess that’s all to the superstition of female intuition
Even with clear signs of you not being his Eve…you remain
And in a few days, maybe weeks, probably a month, then a year…or two…
You finally proclaim that…that “Nigga ain’t shit”
Reality is that it takes a fool to know a fool
Those looking for T.V. love dive into shallow pools
I’m sick and tired…
Pretentious gangsters attending college
Stemming from a background considered the urban lifestyle
Only hustle in your repertoire is that of using Mommy and Daddy
But you stay fly… Brand name labels have become your fetish
To add to your “swag”…you sag your pants because that’s the trend
Only thing about you is Ignorance…
What happened to intellect?
Not speaking about memorizing all the latest hip hop songs
Or even reciting the various names in your sneaker collection
But then again what I am asking may be deeper than rap
I’m just tired…
Sincerely,
An agitated Poet
