Tales of my Mind II
I wish the world would stop proffering advice.
I wish everyone on earth could accept a single light,
As their source for the right,
Amounts of illumination in their life.
I was raised in a house where we knew everything,
How other people were supposed to raise their kids,
How they were supposed to dress,
How they were supposed to worship God,
We knew how they were supposed to mature naturally,
So naturally I become infatuated with everything being done right.
But right doesn’t exist in the same form outside of the Brown family household,
Where we hold the name Jesus in high regard,
And regard to those selling other tales on the boulevard,
We’d shrug them niggas off like retards,
Yet the politically correct conscious says I can’t say retard,
I got to say intellectually disabled,
From my cable I watch a world of spiritually, emotionally, physically incapable people,
Act like fucking buffoons.
So I puff up my balloons,
Make charge my didactic, pedantic speeches,
About being prudent and fastidious,
Yet I sound like a hypocritical idiot,
Because half the shit I preach,
Can be turned on me two.
So while those around me,
Become racked with ennui,
Or even those I aggravate,
I still carry myself like I’m undoubtedly right,
Shit its what I’ve seen my whole life,
The world is paltry, indigent, and filled to the brim with strife,
I’m simply cutting out the necrotic with a knife,
Yet who am I to say that anything is dead?
When I remember frankly someone claiming it was alive,
Do I ignore them and keep the thoughts running in my head?
Or integrate their beliefs and accept the shit in stride?
The world is full of opinions that outnumber the grains of sand,
Niggas on that preachy shit with faux bibles in their hand,
Their grand broaching of any subject laden,
With enough facts that work from here to Copenhagen,
Yet I’m taken by periodic moods of duress,
When my pressed, stressed brain cells are under arrest,
By the conundrums, pit falls, and simple fucked up truths at hand.
Since being right is a farse and being wrong doesn’t exist,
When I see bullshit off the charts and I really can persist,
In telling someone that I’m correct or else I must resist,
The urge to keep my arms from throwing the same knuckled fists,
Of flawed logic and imprecise sciences,
We can only build allegiances and form alliances,
With that of what we think is right, from our very own perspectives,
Suddenly the world looks different and now everythings respected,
Depending on how you view the earth,
Me I’m sick of this fucking planet.
I’m sick of its rules and the worth of its jewels,
And all of those who plan it.
Yet I’m here living and I’m on a pendulum of acceptance,
And complete repulsion,
Headaches and backaches,
My mind falling into to epileptic convulsions.
I am complicit with no one.
Save my own fucking neurons.
My brain hurts.
And I think the world full of fucking morons.
Pardon my language.
Quite frankly I don’t give a shit.