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What about the girls?

Yeah I wrote about the boys.

I got feedback from those who’ve honored me by giving it a read.Some are mad thinking I inadvertently roasted the menfolk while writing about that,frankly I had a certain demography in mind I wanted to highlight so I may have perhaps added some feeling from personal experiences even though I tried to separate myself from the story.Others had disagreed letting me know they are indeed

different.The remaining were merely amused and or curious

They asked me what about the girls,the girls in my world.

I must admit,it took me a while to get into it.To (summarise) a general concept of the flaws of my own flock,there are certain truths I have never wanted to *come to terms with* that sadly, I must come to terms with.They are a reflection of myself and we all know how ugly things can really get.

I cannot begin to write about Leila,Ivy,Susan,Sheila and Jackie without writing about myself.

My stories must first come from somewhere within me,at least i get to choose the space simply because I am a procrastinator and im always almost missing timing and deadlines by a hair,

Haha I’m just kidding ,time has nothing to a do with what I’m writing.it’s completely irrelevant to the topic.

As unappealing and yet still…cute as the insecurities these creatures are prone to,I can imagine irrational tears,fears and exceptional pettiness they are ;the girls in my world.Who else to deal with all that than these poor sweet boys

Oh ye of little faith,

The children of satan must be fed.

Nostalgia.

He missed sitting on his desk alone at the back heedy from a creative trip,thats the only way he could explain that particular experience
And for however long it took,could be a month,a few days or 5 minutes – he would be consumed by an idea so much so he would follow it through building it,expanding it,exploiting and twisting it to fit a bigger purpose.
He would tear the paper with words sharpened from days filled with homesickness,frustration and anger added with a copious amount of libido just waiting for some kind of release.No
not that kind of release.
Said release came in form of rhythm and poetry.Sometimes it would be a mixture of both.

He wrote with the feverish manner of a mad scientist,mumbling and nodding his head while he hummed a couple freestyle verses while playing a tune that he came up with from somewhere in the many folds of his mind more often than not,he would also play an instrument to accompany it.
Nobody would be there to witness this for another few years to come – running across his face would be emotions he had struggled to conceal.I guess as he wrote his music he completely gave into himself; in a studio with his boys,his equipment,his words,his voice and his ganja.But even with all that it was never about him,he made his art for the world-saying he was only a vessel meant to pass on a message.
Of all the times to remember he recalled knowing whatever he was writing would be banging in his classmates heads for days to come because it just simply slapped that hard…yeah this could definately be a hit.

For soul as talented as that he didn’t consider himself not too popular even though he fairly stood slightly apart from the rest of the hoard.
He considered other peoples lives more interesting ,like his best friend who’s politically driven family was more mafia than the mafia or his other friend who was effortlessly charming he always had something to say,his wit and pun game too strong it got them reluctant admiration from the deputy principal.Who by the way studiously avoided being on any agreeing terms with any of the students that didn’t end up with someone being punished.
He also knew that that was only a front.
A jokers’ bane of existence is his depression.
The world is a tragedy and humor is a coping strategy.
Nostalgia hit as he reminisced back when he stood in line with his shirt semi-tucked,thoughts of a lesson he wished he could duck and a biology assignment that was due-lord he was so fucked.
A girl he liked way too much and his homies endless taunts when he wrote romantic stuff.
Someone copying his english homework,another one paying him to write a love letter,getting caught sleeping during a history paper and ulitimately becoming a trendsetter.

TFTIW.

You are the type to tilt to only one side of these weights
I mean With all those emotions
Playing on a beautiful surface
I remember lying down and thinking
I cant wait to write songs about that face
And wonder why it didn’t work out

I know Its getting late
I should probably go home
My mom’s blowing up my phone
Ive got a curfew @ eight

So i haven’t seen you in a while
Yet we’ve just met now
nothing awkward about that
You break the ice and we’re cool
But only for a little while until the silence.
It creeps in and i start thinking
I wonder if im still bothered by the thoughts if you

If its not too awkward
Take me to my bus stop
Maybe we just might do this again
I guess we’ll just pick it up
From where we left it the last time
‘The last time’
I told myself a hundred times

“The boys in my world are damaged.”

The boys in my world these days

Not just the ones i date

But the ones who spend time with my friends ;are almost the same. They are ages Ninteen,twenty two and three.

They may appear as deep as the next guy

But the boys in my world like to wear masks

On mask..on mask.ontop of another mask.And everytime you take one off,and you think you’ve finally figured them out,they’ll prove you wrong.The boys in my world they practice some new magic ;Now you see me now you dont.

Occlumence,legilimence -the whole show.

The boys in my world like to say goodbye.They do it quite a number of times -at times citing invalid reasons.They’re very good at playing hide and go seek.

When it suits them,they’ll hide for hours that feel like months only to come out and yell ‘im here!’ just when you think it best to give up looking for them.They like to think they came emotionally prepared because they want to limit the L’s they take,however they cry in silence when they think no one’s watching.

The boys in my world dont play fair with the girls in their world,although they sometimes have trouble admitting this,they have already assimilated to the teachings of the outside world.The toys they collect come in different sizes and shapes of female.

The boys in my world,like to have a lot of fun.If fun consists of booze or smoke count them in.You can say the boys in my world date drugs and abuse women.

The boys in my world,are damaged.They wear their ‘hurts’ on their sleeves.They will feed off affection wherever they can find it and still remain insatiable.Sometimes you don’t know this until you realize they’ve gone too deep into your cosmic energy,And energy,if not exchanged or replenished remains non-renewable.

The boys in my world,like to be both foolish and brave

And With them,Its hard to know what will come next ,most of the time they think alot more than they listen,i think very few of them still know what it means to ‘understand’.Deep down,they are struggling.If asked,they will tell you that for the longest time they’ve been aliens in their own world.