What's up with these little poems
That don't want to rhyme
That just talk on how hard life is
And how there's not enough time

There's too many of them
They fill our lives with more stress
They don't change how we feel
And they don't make our pain any less

They're just words picked out of the jar And randomly spewed back onto the page No meaning behind them No loyalty with age

But we read them anyway
Trying to subtract their meaning
Multiplying it by our own lives
So they'll add to the healing

But they divide our true character
And this isn't even school
There's no book to use
And our only real tool

Is our heads and ourselves
And our brains and our hearts
To live how we want to live
And to be true from the start

So although it's a little mushy
And not entirely "hood'
Question everything.
Retain what is good

Decide what life is yourself
Don't mooch off other people
I'm not saying give up poetry
I'm not even saying be equal

I'm not saying always be strong
I'm not saying mix pence
And I'm not even saying
You have to believe this makes sense

But don't soak up every little poem
That you happen to see
Because somewhere writing another one
Is someone exactly like me