My Rap

Well I guess I need to start picking out a dress for this season's pageants. Isn't there more to life than this? Isn't there more to life than looking beautiful and sexy on stage while gawking judges rate my performance? I know that now that I'm four years old, I have to start figuring out my future. I can't be a kid forever.

Last night I recorded my thoughts in a rap, which I would perform if my mommy let me listen to rap music:

Dropping a rhyme
like a pantomime,
all in due time
what's my crime?

I'm only four,
and nothing more,
shut the door,
life's such a chore.

Living and breathing,
always deceiving,
then comes grieving
no more believing.

[10 minutes of beat-boxing and jazz hands]

And now I'm tired,
of being inspired,
when everyone's wired
and fully perspired.

Dropping that rhyme
like a pantomime,
all in due time.
That's my crime!

~I'm Crying For Help

I Wrote a Poem On My Way To Violin/Tennis/Latin Class

Today I wrote this poem, feeling a little somber about my life choices. I have to choose a school soon. It's hard being four.


Doubting that distasteful darkness,
Daring to see it but losing it to inflamed scents
Leaves my mortified midnight mentored madness
Trickling down abandoned scapeways like few strangling pents

And that distasteful darkness lumes more brightly,
And screams an impossible use of a language which noone created
Which everyone stretches to master as though their worth is in it
In the criticism of the remarks deemed tasteful yet inflated.

And self-inflicted life tragedy motivated pains lume more brightly
And yet who creates the tragedy? Simple plight--
Enough plight to fill the night and consume the salt stenched drizzle
To make one believe they control nothing forbidden from the light.

Who sees the light amid the waste or unseen
This is one whose doubts of distasteful darkness
Disassemble at the blow of a greater power whose light--
That light amid it, leads astray the mentored madness

Gripping the sanity granted forever as a weapon--
A weapon against the distasteful darkness
Feeling the gravity of that sanity slowly seeping
Through the bodiless mass left helpless in the plight

But something worth holding--that motivates greater than tragedy--
Which amid the worst of the blow pierces insanity and calls--
Calls for long term and pleads for eternity
But still left with the madman who rises or falls.

And in that moment he abandons the distasteful darkness
And takes the more powerful hand who has grasped
And made the one what could create the gravity of the sanity
Left to remember the lesson now learned.

~It Just Gets More Confusing