I have trouble connecting with people

Who go to church and gather around the steeple

Asking me if I’ve been saved and part of the sheeple


I don’t care, and to most, that’s terrible

Since saving is a tenet of the faith that I bet is wearable

And I see them all share stories of tattooed honor that are unbearable


I am dreadful comparatively speaking

And I have nothing to fear, but confidence is leaking out

The idea that I am something special fills me with doubt.


Ah, ideas.  Here are a few


I don’t want to fuck you

I want to impregnate you with ideas

Ideas that make famous authors and painters too


Ideas are the things we always have but never capitalize upon

Why? Dear we never think ours will blaze on

I have trouble connecting with people, but I spread ideas that are sung along


I may never be a writer who is admired

The idea though will carry through the winds of those who aspire

Sing on, ideas, and bring me along.

The End

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