Red October: The Open Letter

Fuck that bitch who I used to care about
Fuck that bitch because she’s still someone I care about
Even though I really shouldn’t because she clearly don’t care about me
She didn’t switch it up, clearly didn’t prepare around me
I feel like a sucker and shit, maybe I am.
What’s worse? Being called an Uncle Tom or being chased by Uncle Sam?
If I shared all my thoughts, you’d probably think I’m crazy
If you believed all the rumors, you’d think I had all the ladies
I’m something of a rarity, a 90’s baby with no babies
I don’t trust a lot of people because people have been shady
People don’t really know me, they know what I choose to share
Because if I share something too “real”, will my “real” friends be there?
Like if I told people I used to be suicidal? What would be the reaction?
While everyone separated in cliques, I couldn’t figure out my faction
I’m not the type to wear my heart on my sleeve, not into that type of fashion
Wanted to live life in the fast lane but I’m the one that ended up crashing
I’m better now but I still have days where I think what could have been
I almost died when I was 6, nothing afterward is what should have been
Young, black, and gifted is kind of a hard life to leave though
Too many people I used to fuck with, gave me the heave ho
Sometimes I need my space, so the spotlight I sometimes leave though
Watching who I kick it with, hang with dogs, might get fleas though
Sometimes I wonder about my own funeral, I know that’s weird to say
But I just want to know when I’m gone, what do people really say?
But people rarely get the flowers when they still have a chance to smell them
People rarely hear the truth when it’s still beneficial to tell them
Fuck it, I get curved a lot. It sucks to say but it’s real shit
I need to work on myself because it’s hard to find someone to be real with
People will cut you open then prescribe the medicine to heal with
But why is everyone proud of being numb & saying they don’t feel shit?
Hell, I wish I wasn’t affected by the things that I’m affected by
Hell, I wish I had a six pack but I’m not ready to give up apple pie
I’m trying to improve myself but I don’t know what I should work on first
Maybe I wouldn’t get curved so much if I finally figured out to flirt
Why I gotta be attracted to all the grimy women who’s involved in hella dirt?
Why does sometimes trying harder only makes everything worse?
Why can’t my grandmother remember who I am?
Everytime that happens, my heart gets broken more than a promise man
I’m angry at the fact I shared some secrets with a certain person
People will judge the new you off of the older versions
I still hate being vulnerable, I don’t know if it will ever change
After I share certain things, people will not see me the same
I guess you can go home again, ask LeBron James
I just want the peace of mind to do my own thing
I can brainstorm at any time, better grab an umbrella
The clock is about to strike midnight, will I turn out like Cinderella?
Will I do anything that is worth anyone to remember?
I’m sorry, I’m venting. Time to close this open letter.

This entry was posted in Creativity, honesty, poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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