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This is the poem I had planned to read at the Lizard Lounge last Sunday when they took too fuqing long to get the open mic going. I wrote it after I got there while I still sitting in the truck; parked on Mass Ave. So it probably needs some tewaking.

You know....sometimes...I wish
I wish I could squat the weight of the the world on my shoulders

Sometimes I wish I didn't think of corny cliches
But I am glad I'm not usually known for trying to make shit rhyme that just don't mesh

Sometimes I wish I could narrow my thoughts and focus on a single goal
But I often find that self-inflicted pigeon-holing ain't very fulfilling

Sometimes I wish that I had instead cam up during the 60s
But then again sometimes when I really think about it
I might not have made it to today
Or the 70s; for that matter

It's funny how sometimes the wants supercede trhe needs
The glory begets the greed
When all I want most is happiness and hold down my seed
Which is very distinct from holding him back
Because if I did that
I'll even admit that I'd be very fuqing wack

So sometimes I even think back to what made me write poems in the first place
A few names come to mind, in addition to an unfortunate fall from grace (RIP)
But a them pervades

How can one stay focused
Yet distracted and scattered at the same time
Sometimes I wish I had traveled through the sands of time
And sold my soul for a 401k
But somehow I don't think it would sit right in my gut
Why can't I be the squirrel out just to get a nut
Probably because i wouldn't be able to stomach it

So really this is all just an exercise in futility
Me flexing my brain cells for the first time in a while just l'il bit sans the humility

Cuz you know...Sometimes I wish I was an arrogant muthafuqa
But then again...how does one kick one's own ass?
I guess I'll have to let that one marinate as I get back into shape and into the groove of things

A few years older with a few more handles has me feeling like an elder statesmen
Disconnected from the hip - yet not yet in need of surgery to resussitate my instint nor my intellect
But still wanting desperately to flip shit

But I guess time will only tell how well I'll walk the fine line of life't tightrope

Do I go for broke?
Or for the throat of the beats?

Because no matter how much I rambl of flip-flop
The struggle for my peoples', hip-hop', and my own soul will never cease