Tired of runnin’
And fussin’
And sparin’ the details.
We got it good now,
A house, a family, you can go to school.
You won’t learn about us, baby,
They don’t give lessons on strange fruits.
The road derails, your smile retains:
Hope.
I pray you’ll never see blood on the leaves.
So there I was, and there you were, all of us,
everyone, dangling their feet off the rooftop.
Four distinctly different artists caught in the same painting
yet, none of us holding the paintbrush to our passions, yet.
Ambitious, yes, focused, not so much, motivated? Most definitely.
Dedicated to manipulation,
to making a masterpiece for the masses,
a decision to "form a more perfect union".
To map a new demographic before our deaths.
If our desire was to make a mark, well,
we'd be done already.
The mark's been made, but not engraved,
and for it to stay we need to stomp on it until our own foot decays.
And these days, most pictures will fade,
So as us four sat there, dancing with the devil,
we dared to begin drafting on our canvas.
With no brush, but our own fingers,
our own blood, sweat, tears, and elbow grease,
finally finding the paintbrush to be figurative,
that we were manipulated ourselves.
We learned to picture the paintbrush as our pointer,
our palms the palettes, our pinkies the varnish,
a promise our piece would never be vandalized.
The world is your oyster, they say,
and the city was our canvas,
where we painted nothing but pearls,
rare commodities for the communities to cherish
until our masterpiece, the indefinite work in progress, is completed.
(you will say something today!)
yeah, that isn’t stupid
or maybe she thinks it’s cute
when i fumble over my lines
(you’re losing time just say something!)
hey, how are y-
(too generic)
the weather’s nic-
(it’s raining, stupid!)
I-
(you’re fumbling)
but,
she laughed?
(giggled)
I hate resorts and I hate vacations.
I hate birthdays, I hate celebrations.
I hate pop radio stations and I hate cajun seasoning
I hate New York I hate the feeling,
I hate being a tourist I hate sightseeing.
I tried being happy I tried doing the right thing,
Until I tried smashing through the glass ceiling and broke my hand on the concrete.
I thought an apple a day keeps the doctor away
I figured out that he's just running late on the subway
You must let the kids
sing in the rain, darling.