It's all words overly believed in.
(I could artistically
space
this
bad boy
out for ya'
but that would just
give you suckas
too much
room to(
too late
)breath in.
I told myself I would never
write a love song;
so I didn't.
I wrote the truth;
I remember when I saw you and I couldn't talk to you
when I used to hide in all the places you were walking through
just to gawk at you I was borderline stalking you
you had a bangin' frame held up with good posture oh
like foreign land you made a man wanna conquer you
but us getting together wasn't probable
all the failed attempts with other men had really got to you
it was written on Your face I had to wipe it off of you
I walked up like this might sound a little awkward true
but it looks to me like you could use a couple problems boo
you'll be my d
I love myself;
I want you to love me
When I'm down;
I want you above me
I search myself;
I want you to find me
I forget myself;
remind me.
;;;;
I laid eyes on her as I lit a smoke I was broke
the guy she was with looked at me like a joke
he was feeling her up and touching her face
and what she whispered in his ear sounded like a mixtape
her pimps name is sam goody he calls her his best buy
she had all the connections her preference is wifi
dressed in every different color so she's always fly
everyone already had her but I had to make her mine
she's chillin' behind glass selling herself to the town
apple tattoo'd on her a
it's cold
and my saliva
is only
just
warm enough
to prevent me
from spitting icsicles
out the window;
my woman
is in the passenger seat
reclined
staring
at the car-
ceiling
like an alternate-
universe or
a work
of art.
she's
giggling
speaking to me
giggling;
until we past a man (dead
or just shy
of successful)
laying face-
down
frozen
to the side-
walk
by his own
drunken-
piss
(and she finally
shared
my silence)
as countless
torn-
remntants
of shopping bags
flailed
like the petrified
muscle tis
the street lights puked
their endless
cloak of yellow
and black spit away from cracked-
cobble broken
over
and it was
as if this man
grew
or had been
rooted
in-
to the place
from which he played
his instrument
probably stolen from
heaven's only
devil
or hell's only
angel
or perhaps
just
a pawn shop
window
it spilled
a magic
to which
dollar bills fell
into it's coffin
as if hypnotized
by the guitar strings
tired flailing
in a slow-
sway only found
in cat-
fish whiskers.
It's all words overly believed in.
(I could artistically
space
this
bad boy
out for ya'
but that would just
give you suckas
too much
room to(
too late
)breath in.
I told myself I would never
write a love song;
so I didn't.
I wrote the truth;
I remember when I saw you and I couldn't talk to you
when I used to hide in all the places you were walking through
just to gawk at you I was borderline stalking you
you had a bangin' frame held up with good posture oh
like foreign land you made a man wanna conquer you
but us getting together wasn't probable
all the failed attempts with other men had really got to you
it was written on Your face I had to wipe it off of you
I walked up like this might sound a little awkward true
but it looks to me like you could use a couple problems boo
you'll be my d
I love myself;
I want you to love me
When I'm down;
I want you above me
I search myself;
I want you to find me
I forget myself;
remind me.
;;;;
I laid eyes on her as I lit a smoke I was broke
the guy she was with looked at me like a joke
he was feeling her up and touching her face
and what she whispered in his ear sounded like a mixtape
her pimps name is sam goody he calls her his best buy
she had all the connections her preference is wifi
dressed in every different color so she's always fly
everyone already had her but I had to make her mine
she's chillin' behind glass selling herself to the town
apple tattoo'd on her a
it's cold
and my saliva
is only
just
warm enough
to prevent me
from spitting icsicles
out the window;
my woman
is in the passenger seat
reclined
staring
at the car-
ceiling
like an alternate-
universe or
a work
of art.
she's
giggling
speaking to me
giggling;
until we past a man (dead
or just shy
of successful)
laying face-
down
frozen
to the side-
walk
by his own
drunken-
piss
(and she finally
shared
my silence)
as countless
torn-
remntants
of shopping bags
flailed
like the petrified
muscle tis
the street lights puked
their endless
cloak of yellow
and black spit away from cracked-
cobble broken
over
and it was
as if this man
grew
or had been
rooted
in-
to the place
from which he played
his instrument
probably stolen from
heaven's only
devil
or hell's only
angel
or perhaps
just
a pawn shop
window
it spilled
a magic
to which
dollar bills fell
into it's coffin
as if hypnotized
by the guitar strings
tired flailing
in a slow-
sway only found
in cat-
fish whiskers.
there's a sense
of wealth
in me,
not one
that comes
from checking
bank statements,
or balancing
a check book,
but more
or less
a contrast
to the
spiritual
bankruptcy
of my
past,
I remember
sitting filthy
in self pity
on the stairs
of a church,
drinking beer
hotter
than
piss
from a
dirty
styrofoam
cup
fresh
from the
I'm known to set fire to a booklet of poems aged with the experience of time.
Current Residence: New Jersey deviantWEAR sizing preference: XL 2XL Print preference: Anything for my wall. Favourite photographer: Katie Brain and Angela Whorton MP3 player of choice: portable cd players. Shell of choice: coconut Wallpaper of choice: Picasso knock offs
Tools of the Trade
pencils, brushes, microphones, bleeding fingers, ideas that hold water, or pens that hold ink.
or just check me on
http://www.leftginsberg.com
I just released a spoken -
word hiphopy super-
album
which is available (digitally) on
ITUNES
as well as
in hardcopy
(with my dollar-store
autograph)
at
http://www.leftginsberg.com
I'M WRITING AGAIN;
sort of because I love you
but mostly because
you made me harder to kill.
check it out; I know it's been a long time
since I've posted anything
whatsoever
but I have compiled 2 manuscripts;
1 for release by a small press out of Las Vegas
that will for now remain anonymous
and one to kick around to different people
although first dibs is going to;
READ THIS PRESS
who just plain kicks ass and has been very
fundamental in my relationship
with pencils pens typewriters and lap tops;
with all of that
out of the way;
here's the scoop;
I recorded a 18 track album with producer Blesst Beats
to a create a unique indie-hiphop sound; which will be on Itunes
and several other online-music-
well, it's finally happened.
never before have I thought that my writing was
good enough that someone would want to pretend
it belongs to them, but apparently I was wrong.
the lovely wonderlustqueen (https://www.deviantart.com/wonderlustqueen) pointed out
the following blog to me: [ link ]
I left a simple comment notifying the person
that I did in fact KNOW they stole it from me;
as well as that it was flattering...
However; this person also stole the poetry
of YouInventedMe (https://www.deviantart.com/youinventedme) KneelingGlory (https://www.deviantart.com/kneelingglory) and several others
so take a stop by the blog [ here ]
to see if he/she has stolen any of your work;
to see the countless stolen poems; or just to
leave mean or rude com