But nostalgia is like a rainstorm; stand below it and it’ll wash over you.
Ight. Being me is not like being raised like you. I didn’t understand that, but I was cool with it. Didn’t bother me. Having shit did. For a bit, just a bit, I wished, just a bit of that whole lot that’s out there. I thought it was cruel, I mean it was fucked up. It was right there, in my reach, taunting me. Even then I didn’t want what other kids wanted or had. Nah.
I understood that. I wanted more. I wanted what got them what they had.
And then, one day, what if I had what they wanted? Silk hands, my shit was sleek, don’t let me catch you sleeping. Words to live by.
Just like that, the left to your right, you never saw me coming. Shit was sleek, don’t let me catch you sleeping, words to live by. You walk past me, seeing what you see, I see what I see.
I don’t know what you saw, but I saw a lil bitch. Not in the I’m so fucking macho I stretch your mouth and nut on the back of your skull, bitch; more like a—I don’t understand that thing you’re doing but I like it so it’s now mine and if you say something about it Imma fucking throw a fit and take your fucking food out your fridge and I swear if I find out you reproduce Imma haunt your fucking lineage, matter of fact—Imma take your country—type bitch.
Wolves in wolf clothing, fuck a sheep, literally. Ya’ll are weird as fuck.
Some sort of short memory syndrome of bullshit mixed up with that longing for what never was and wont fucking be—cos fuck you, ya’ll are going to have to unsubscribe me from breathing before I let go that easy. Don’t let me catch you sleeping.
Bitch you took our bed, our roof, our food, the beach? Our schools, our car? Our food? Didn’t want to mention health, felt it would be giving you too much power. But fuck it. Literally. Butt fuck it. Butt fuck all these leeches, figuratively, leeches don’t have buttholes.
And that’s why ya’ll constipated.
Now don’t blame me. Ya’ll took everything.
Im just surviving. Don’t let me catch you sleeping, bitch.
I love the photos too!