I'm not beckoned to your ignoramus calls.
Why must you flaunt your riches in my face?
You seem to feed on attention and lust, I don't give in.

I ignore your commands and shun your appearance.
Who is I to be your pal you speak of?
You disgust me within, it's a struggle to tail away.

Our enduring days are behind us now.
What do you want from life?
If you tend to gloat and praise, do it elsewhere.

I shall not sink into your demeanor.  
You cause scars that cannot be settled or healed.
Can you leave people be?

If you proceed to boast, I will no longer rest my case.
Do you want crucial pain in your future?
As long as I'm alive, you will proceed to mock me.

Die.

It was one, hot, soothing day, and i was still going to summer camp. We all headed to the beach that day. My friend and i had the hunger of wild animals. We rushed over to the food stand for some delicious chili dogs n nachos. Boy, it was a long time. We waited in the blistering heat, starving. While we were waiting, a song was playing from afar. "It's in the Morning" from Robin Thicke. When we me and my friend heard the song, we analyzed every part of it. From lyric to lyric, chorus to chorus. It was fun. This kept us busy till our scrumptious food came. This was the best day ever.

I remember that wonderful lady like I remembered the scab on my right knee.
She was from Georgia, a honey sweet peach that lived a blocked away from me on Summer Set avenue.

She was as white as snow and fragile like my mom's glass figurines.
She always wore her long bleached grey hair in a pull-back tight bun,
almost like a nun. She would always wear powdered makeup that seemed to be brought from the 50's,

Very pastel and brittle on her gentle old skin.

She was humble like the bees, soft talking too.

I remember every early summer weekend I would walk on down to that lady's house.
I would knock on her burgundy shiny wooden door and peek through her small window filled with cat-like collections.

She would let me in and treat me almost like I was her own.
She would sit me down on her floral sofa and whip me up my favorite treat,
Oatmeal baked cookies with a tall glass of hickory sweet lemon tea.

My favorite.

This lady was everything and anything.
She would wrap me in her quilted blanket and play some classical 50's tunes,
We would swing on her back porch and count the Blue Jays in the sky.
I loved the way she would tell her magnificent stories,
The way she talked sounded like soothing waves of the seven seas.

I loved her.

Her deep, poetic advices gave me hope,
It made me realize my inner self.

As the days became weary and the summer sun was drifting,
That wonderful lady was getting weary herself.
She was able to hang as long as anyone I can think of.
At least she stood her grounds and fought for every penny she made in her life.

What a trooper.

I'll never forget that wonderful lady,
She was like a grandma to me.
I actually felt I had someone to talk to during those long summers.

What a wonderful lady.

I love the way he talks, whisky parched with a little deep tone.
I love when I talk too much, 5am turn the radio up.
Blood, sweat, tears everyday, what do I have to do to get a donut?
My glass is full of wine, ring on my finger I feel imprisoned.
Love it when you're too cool for school, stop being a gangster.
Pop my *** up from a garbage can, wake up shirtless with red scratch marks.
Smell of citrus on my lips, standing too close to the TV screen.
Do I need a lil break tonight? I feel my body tensing up.
BBQ stains oh his left shirt collar, kissing in the rain till my hair frizzes.
*** in the city to the crack of dawn, Eggo waffles down my shirt.
Sipping tea on the back hot porch, singing blues every dreading Sunday.

**** with it.