I write these words from boredom.
Where they lead to, I know not.
All I know, is that I write from boredom.
Some say boredom is an opportunity to be creative.
Others find that statement manipulative.

Boredom finds a way to make me yawn, and strikes when I least expect.
I always wonder when it will hit next.
I'm lucky when it leaves, and pray that is does not return.

Boredom isn’t what we think it is, not an opportunity, not a cage, not an adventure, not a fading bruise.
It’s an unexplainable phenomenon.

Boredom is what keeps me from leaving bed, on a cloudy, Monday afternoon.
Boredom makes me blindly stare, and makes me whisper even when I’m alone.
Boredom isn’t something, nor the lack of it.

It’s a grey canvas.
Theres something different about the nothingness, it’s not like it used to be.
Yet, it’s not much different, is it?

When the nut was plentiful, when the nut was tender.
Because I’m passing from the nut I go outside to clear my mind, but I see a nut tree, I see nuts of every kind.
I begin to wonder, if passing from the nut is a blunder.
Shall I just go crazy? Shall I release the thunder?
But oh-no, I made a bet that I could resist the nut; and I am not a baller, so you’d best believe, I ain’t paying that ten dollar.
A week left for my journey, for the nut I am yearning.
The nut will not bug me, for I am not a Rolly-Polly, thereafter I am a man, the nut will not control me.
December comes blooming, blooming like a daisy, so you’d best believe, your boy’s going crazy.

Whose painting is that? I think I know.
Its owner is quite happy.
Full of joy like a vivid rainbow, I watch her laugh.
I cry hello.

She gives her brush a shake, laughs until her belly aches.
The only other sounds that break, of distant steps and birds awake.
The stories she tells are delightful, amazing and deep, but she has promises to keep.

After cake and lots of sleep, sweet dreams come to her cheap.
She rises from her gentle bed, with thoughts of kittens in her head.
She eats her jam with lots of bread.
Ready for the day ahead.

Only so long till I see her face.
And tell her to shut the **** up so I can take a nap in class you *****.

Your a house cat, Prince.
You can’t just be a house cat your whole life, knocking **** over and hissing at birds.
Only the next day to be a big, sturdy elephant.
Quit all this “elephant” *******.
Take a good look in the mirror; at your little cat ears.
Your thin, adorable little whiskers, and fluffy tail.
Do elephants have have little ears?
Do they have cute little whiskers or fluffy tails?
No, they don’t.
People don’t change, no matter how much they think otherwise.
You can’t just wake up one day and be an elephant, Prince.
The world doesn’t work like that.
Those are the rules, and you want to stomp all over them with your big, nonexistent elephant feet.
So next time you wake up, take a good look in the mirror and hiss at yourself.
Why? Because your a ******* house cat, and can’t recognize your own reflection.
Get over yourself.

You’re nothing special.

You create life from your ****, and it destroys everything that you love.
It goes in a straight path, and you know where it's gonna go, but not exactly where it's gonna end up.