i've been trying to write some poems that have patterns and rhyme and all that boring shit, this is one of the least embarassing attempts of many; i wrote it down as i sat on the dryer waiting like junkie for more warm towels to fold... god damnit.
nick/gNack-salesman
Don't have friends in high places
My rich uncle's on the dole
I don't know any famous faces
Not even on the totem pole.
That's alright though
It don't get me down
Got my pen and paper
Jotting like I own this town.
From where I'm standing
I can see it all so clearly
Don't care if no one's understanding
Still I'll clutch my scribbles dearly.
It's not a job, it's not a hobby
To just see while others do
That's why I sleep out in the lobby
Spilling ink so black through eyes so blue.
...and then I folded like 10 washcloths.
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1 comment:
you should put this to music
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