Welcome to doubleyou.poetry, a unique collection of spoken word, poetry, lyrics, and more.
Thank you for being here, even if you stumbled upon this as an accident. “Never ignore that small voice inside you telling you what you’re meant to do”
human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.
f you're even pretending to read this right now, I want to say thank you - sincerely. I don't exactly advertise my love for words, and how putting the right ones together, and follow a unique formatting that only the most elite of artists are able to achieve in such a way, where the reader is transformed to a universe unlike any that as a human, he had never known
Making sense of nonsense
“I’ll be in the self-help section”
Now, if you’d please allow me
A moment here, I’d like to do my best to make myself clear
Yeah, the name’s SJW, but for simplicity’s sake,
Just call me that dude, keep it easy, keep it straight.
But listen—
I’m not here to brag or to tell you my wealth;
I’m just a stack of tattered pages labeled “Do-It-Yourself.”
And if you look close, man, these self-help texts
All got their own shelf,
So I hit the library—
‘Cause I can’t do life by myself.
Started out needing suggestions,
A few book mentions that could possibly help.
And what do they hand me?
A mountain—can’t help but laugh
Stacked so tall I won’t read half,
Grabbed em and put them back neatly lined up like a graph
I pay it forward, try to be of service, act with purpose.
Got that library card and honestly it’s the best purchase
I’ve made in a long time—
Probably since the weed I used to nickel-and-dime
Never made money, man, no not one time,
Only hooked up my friends ‘cause that’s just how I climbed.
Anyway—
I’ll keep this real brief, chief,
But let me ask you one thing:
Should I wash my car— An
Old Crown Vic, beat-up, scarred—
Is it even worth it?
Or should I just let the dust stick hard?
Gotta admit, my windshield fluid’s busted,
So I feel like a jerk on my morning commute,
Realizing I can’t see a damn thing through the grime.
What if someone walks across the street at the wrong time?
That’d be a crime scene waiting to happen—
Bodies flying twenty yards from this ex-cop car contraption.
Man… that’s a memory I could never discard,
Not another scar on the brain,
I’ve had enough pain, enough strife—
So c’mon, Chat,
Send a little advice for this life.
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