#likeajournal

I know they hatin cause a mescan grew up and finally made a little change, not momentarily scary, I mean I act my age, played my games now I control more than characters, I'm not the same, you can blame it on these terriers, dogs barkin but the bite is non existent, I've been a target, still I fight cause I've been on a mission, headed towards a better life but not by any means, I can't afford to lose my baby and my fam ya see, my heart is bigger than the average, it's massive but just like plastic it can be damaged so fast and quick, that's why I stick to makin money legit, that's why I keep up out the streets and seek these beats for my hits, I'm done with cloudin up my mind, now I set it free, I'm livin proud of what is mine, and that ain't just my property, what I'm about is somethin never up for sale, I'm after that family life, that right there's my holy grail - Young Q

there is a crowd at the foot of a stage, bated smiles and uncomfortable elbows, waiting for this hour. and they are so far away from me that i may as well be bouncing off the rings of saturn, unaware of the mighty pull sun gravity can have on the skin when you insist on being human. often i am asked if i miss it. if i'd rather be there. crammed in the city lights. knee to metal chair. perking my ears with the others assuming that whoever has the rippiest jeans and fallest hair and loudest mouth must be a good enough human to put on stage and ramble at the innocent. i am not worse off in my alone den. i am not sadder with a slower rite. i am not missing anything except all the things you dont think deserve me. but the truth of the slickness behind my teeth suggests that all the new i am devouring, all the complacent and prideful and elitist i reject never needed me to cower. i loved that space and those faces and that stopwatch because at the time there were ribs i wished to pluck who wouldnt let me touch them. i was a shell. an ocean shell waiting for a chubby hand to hear my echo. a turtle shell carrying cracks of dirt filled with dinosaur spit. an acorn shell hugging all the promise of the oak tree until it was ready. and now it has rooted. grabbed at the earth and said- this is my shade bear with me. this is my ache sleep with me. i cannot put stock into the power hands of hungry creepers, they will make a soup too bitter my sweet lips to pass. i am grateful for rain and windows and mystical card pictures. i am grateful for these things not because i cannot have another choice, but because i choose them to be my present moment. do not pity me a wasted second. the way i see it, bouncing around universes away, i learned more inside my own skin then i ever could have hearing the troubled tumblings of misguided tongues married to the stretch of microphone stink. some days i will press my body there, and hope that it awakens a stir. my body only needs pressed one spot tonight. knuckles. loops. and also yawn.