A Writer's Story

December 2007



(Teacher: Okay class its time for the test. Clear your desks! eyes on your own papers! I hope you all studied........)


The little dreamer with the backwards hat and train track braces,
Hand me down sweatpants, and shoes with fat laces,
Sat there at his desk, an empty page before 'em,
When the test equations left him in a heavy daze of boredom.....

He thought about a blue sky,
a summer afternoon,
Lounging up inside his room,
With a Saturday cartoon...
Fishing off the corner of the bridge where he lived at,
Sipping from the hose,
Kissing Lindsay by the swing set….
He let Imagination take him to places,
Where disapproving faces in his class couldn't break him.
A Knack for escape in the back getting worse
He tapped a beat on his lap
Trading
Math for a verse

With his red magic marker in a spark he saw purpose,
All his friends would laugh it off, in the halls they'd call him worthless,
But his heart was all but bursting when he fell into a song,
And ever since its always felt like home
And now he's growing
up....


(Father's voice: Ya know what son I'm proud of you, you're about to go off to college! Before you go I just want to make sure you remember to not get dis tracted by drugs or alcohol or unhealthy relati onships. These are the best years of your life..............)


She had to be the cutest girl that he'd ever seen,
He had his head up in the clouds, his eyes on her jeans,
He's older now but still got his sites on the dream
Despite the alcohol, the drama and the lies in between.

The college cynic with the hoodie and the chin strap beard
Baggy pants and old sneakers he's been in since last year
Sleeping through the morning fully clothed all alone
With an empty 40 bottle and a notebook full of poems

Sitting there.. picturing her side getting colder
Where she used to lie listening to rhymes that he wrote her
The girl who got away and the hopeless romantic
Whose hope was abandoned when their rollercoaster landed

Heading straight for a pen whenever the kegs were kicked
He'd flip..over to the page he left off with
In a crazy rush, he let his new found jaded touch
Inspire words that became his crutch
When days were tough


(Boss: Listen, this is the third time this week you've come in late.... You aren't wearing a tie and your shirt is wrinkled! We really need you to shape up. I want that article on my desk first thing tomorrow morning. Are we clear?? I said are we clear????)


Long walks, deep breathes, sleep loss, press on
Small talk, regrets, lunch break, head headphones
New day, same steps, storyline, closure
Beautiful, crazy, out of time, older

The 20 something worker with the crappy tie,
A Dayquil buzz and a caffeine high
Time passin him by, confined to his desk
Depriving him rest, overtime assignments and stress

In his mind he's obsessed with flows on busy beats,
New poems and witty speech, honed on city streets,
His goals within his reach, his lab a tiny studio
apartment, his weeks spent trapped inside a cubicle.

But deep down the truth is his job is just a decoy,
Underneath the suit's the definition of a b-boy,
And he could feel it grow with every stage of his life,
Until tonight when he trades his briefcase for a mic....

(Roar of a crowd)