A poem from 2018, the first one I'm proud of, written while frustrated at work. After that summer I started making beats.
Ripples of wind are flowing through the grass
I know I want to win, I don't want to come in last place
but this is my first and last race.
Only have one take in this life, no replays.
I'm afraid of wasting time.
But I waste time thinking about how much time I'm wasting-
I'm trying to be faithful.
But sometimes the smallest things are painful like pinpricks turned to razors.
It just means I need to slow down.
Walk with my ideas instead of running them aground and maybe,
I'll come to a greater understanding.
At least I hope that's where I'm landing
through these Lucy trips
make my brain do the splits
Words come from the tip of my tongue to my lips.