Growing Up, Giving UpMature

January 21st, 2016

A night of mixed emotions on several topics.

My gods.

Growing up is giving up.


People keep talking about the end-days,

then go to their job.

People tired of working until Fridays,

until they thank god.


Growing up or giving up, just get paid.


Slowly lose yourself for a smile; because all the while your integrity begins to fade into denial.

My gods. It’s worse than I expected; these thoughts reflected upon my qualities, all but bested.

It’s pestering. Shattered dreams caught in-between sidewalks and limousines. So shut up and get paid.


Where have you gone?


You lost? Lie a little and get hired. I never though I’d trade my honesty just to get fired. I’m tired of this choice, between a contemporary state of living and my voice unheard, unjust, and absurd. FUCK is the lamest example of vernacular swear words. You’ve gotta lot to learn kid.



My pockets shoddy. My heart clotted. Sooner or later you're all forgotten. Tell the kids it’s their funeral to pay for so long as I’m laid down and rotted.

Quickly now, build him a small tomb. The earthen flooring raises because there’s no room. My gods, your choices aren’t my own. 7 billion mistakes and yet I’m the clone.

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed