To Whom It May Concern

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