To that girl, I want to spend my last high
with,
You don't know who you are,
The "you're not my type" chick,
The type of girl I'll give up this life with,
Alas she chases the model types,
6 pack wash board abs blue jeans and a hat to match,
Hipster sheik.
But she'll trade the jeans and hat, for a dude with a suit if he got a car waiting out back,
She isn't shallow or easy, Her standards are high,
And my clouds fall right below them.
Strange clouds leads .... to strange times,
A rebound if I'm lucky,
Or maybe the mishaps, of dunking confessions, and a nice high night,
Truth is I just want a shot of your vodka, the pink sparkling fizz that I've learn to love so much.
"I must be dreaming," she thought, "cause I know this can't be real," she continued,
"I got too much on my plate, and you couldn't be an appetizer, main course, or desert,
Not to hurt your feelings friend, but you are just not my choice of mate."
Or so the story goes, with the million of scenarios that I run, were you just say no,
Delusion is my best friend, after I spill my life on film to you sober,
And with that we've been through too much, and now I'm stuck,
Call it the "Friend Zone" crutch, so I'll let my imagination flush,
If we kiss, we touch,
Then I'll want more, and you might... you'll want it to,
You'll ask me to leave,
It was a mistake of too many drinks, and real good trees,
And too much confessing of pass thoughts, you wouldn't, we shouldn't,
Imagination still rambling, wubs coming though my headphones,
While I see us jamming, to that new techno sound called Srkillix,
I faintly hear you saying, "Damn Moe, you nigga lipped it."
Then I see that awkward smile, followed by that awkward laugh,
Last that awkward face, full of red blush, I laugh too, not to console but because it's funny,
We're that comfortable, yet... awe fuck it.
You're looking for forever, and my sanity levels, with your up and down trebles,
Will never meet at a point, in which my imagination would make sense,
And since we gave up on me making sense, next time I sense you're single,
I'll blow you a big O, and smoke you a sweet kiss.
~~~~~~~~~~END OF POEM~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You don't know who you are,
The "you're not my type" chick,
The type of girl I'll give up this life with,
Alas she chases the model types,
6 pack wash board abs blue jeans and a hat to match,
Hipster sheik.
But she'll trade the jeans and hat, for a dude with a suit if he got a car waiting out back,
She isn't shallow or easy, Her standards are high,
And my clouds fall right below them.
Strange clouds leads .... to strange times,
A rebound if I'm lucky,
Or maybe the mishaps, of dunking confessions, and a nice high night,
Truth is I just want a shot of your vodka, the pink sparkling fizz that I've learn to love so much.
"I must be dreaming," she thought, "cause I know this can't be real," she continued,
"I got too much on my plate, and you couldn't be an appetizer, main course, or desert,
Not to hurt your feelings friend, but you are just not my choice of mate."
Or so the story goes, with the million of scenarios that I run, were you just say no,
Delusion is my best friend, after I spill my life on film to you sober,
And with that we've been through too much, and now I'm stuck,
Call it the "Friend Zone" crutch, so I'll let my imagination flush,
If we kiss, we touch,
Then I'll want more, and you might... you'll want it to,
You'll ask me to leave,
It was a mistake of too many drinks, and real good trees,
And too much confessing of pass thoughts, you wouldn't, we shouldn't,
Imagination still rambling, wubs coming though my headphones,
While I see us jamming, to that new techno sound called Srkillix,
I faintly hear you saying, "Damn Moe, you nigga lipped it."
Then I see that awkward smile, followed by that awkward laugh,
Last that awkward face, full of red blush, I laugh too, not to console but because it's funny,
We're that comfortable, yet... awe fuck it.
You're looking for forever, and my sanity levels, with your up and down trebles,
Will never meet at a point, in which my imagination would make sense,
And since we gave up on me making sense, next time I sense you're single,
I'll blow you a big O, and smoke you a sweet kiss.
~~~~~~~~~~END OF POEM~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So according to my friend Ez, I wrote this poem about a girl that I'm in love with. Alas I tell her this is purely bad. But I'll leave it up to the rest of the world to shoot an opinion that is if anybody actually reads these things.
