#fiveboi

returning to my words is the closest thing to finding home within

i may be running from the rest of myself, but the poet in me,

i am running back to with stretched out, open arms ready to feel home.

motherfuckers i’m back with a chip the size of sin on my shoulder

the type of sin that stings like gin and reeks like you just pissed all over

and i ain’t even got nothing to be pissed about it’s all that privilege

too much free time that makes all the fucked up come out plus this damn house

that hosts every bad habit my body boasts it can break, it can grow

now fuck i don’t know don’t trust myself so much i’m anxiety prone

call myself prince of the lost bois cause i can’t find where i left my throne

house started feeling like a weight and less of a home; where is my throne

who’s deserving of a crown? got more doubt than dad’s crown royale to drown

i didn’t even think i could finish this poem hell i still don’t know

if i'ma finish this poem; i’m going to finish this poem

if it’s the last thing i do tonight, that’s one less demon to fight.

i got a chip on my shoulder, like i got some- thing to prove to me

and now all of y'all motherfuckers gonna see that ya boi is back*.

– footnotes –

*and by back this is no recollection of my past; i mean like, yes

poetry is the art of reflecting, but, yes, and storytelling

recounting, yes, and recreating conceptions of my creation

motherfuckers i’m back, but for the better, y'all won’t recognize me.