Tired. Tired. Lonely
Boredinary days
Get my son from school
Basketball he plays

Gently falls the rain
Grey day blues the sky
Some good thing to do
Before my time to die

            Aye! Aye! Aye!

You have the waves of the sea writ on your skin—stretch marks.

Art is in the eye
of the beholder
There is no wrong
or right
In time, I think
it can grow on you
But, for the most part
it’s love at first sight

𝑊ℎ𝑦 𝑐𝑎𝑛'𝑡 𝑖𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑚𝑒?,
𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑤 𝑤ℎ𝑜'𝑠 𝑣𝑖𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑖𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑏𝑙𝑢𝑟𝑟𝑦.
𝑂𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑠𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑐𝑒𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑦,
𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑 𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑦.  

𝑊ℎ𝑦 𝑐𝑎𝑛'𝑡 𝑖𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑚𝑒?,
𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑤 𝑤ℎ𝑜'𝑙𝑙 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑒.
𝐴 𝑓𝑢𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑔𝑙𝑒𝑒,
𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑒.  

𝑊ℎ𝑦 𝑐𝑎𝑛'𝑡 𝑖𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑚𝑒?,
𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑤 𝑤ℎ𝑜'𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑑𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑛𝑖𝑛' 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑎.
𝐹𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐹𝑟𝑒𝑒,
𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑖𝑎 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑥𝑖𝑒𝑡𝑦.  

𝑊ℎ𝑦 𝑐𝑎𝑛'𝑡 𝑖𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑚𝑒?,
𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑤 𝑤ℎ𝑜'𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑠ℎ𝑙𝑦.
𝑂𝑛𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑏𝑟𝑢𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑦,
𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟-𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛' 𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑦.  

𝑊ℎ𝑦 𝑐𝑎𝑛'𝑡 𝑖𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑚𝑒?,
𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑏𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑦.
𝑂𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑡𝑢𝑎𝑟𝑦,
𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡'𝑙𝑙 ℎ𝑢𝑔 𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑠𝑙𝑢𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑛 𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑦.