I tried to be a passenger, in this thing that they call love.

I couldn’t get too comfortable in what I knew so little of.

I know now, what I didn’t know, and for that there is a price.

I am just a little jaded now but I’m probably twice as nice.

There is a freedom in the knowledge that looks like you don’t care.

You look so cold and selfish, but you never learned to share.

I knew you, like few do, and there’s no prize for that.

Just older in the knowledge, that we’ve had this little chat.

The Gifts just keep on coming.

Her smile is bright and good.

Good neighbors are a blessing.

Good blessings in the hood.

I have this theory about growing up and raising children that goes something like: Doesn’t really matter how smart you are or how well you test; what really matters is whether or not you are happy and how well you get along with others.

I am of the general opinion that someone who radiates joy and gets along with people will probably be successful.

She seems stressed about the report card.

She’s asking her teacher if there will any grades below a B…

I have told her I don’t expect perfection but I want effort. I also told her B’s are acceptable.

She is worried I will take away her privileges if the grades are low.

I have restated my expectations because I think age 10 is too young to be stressed about grades.

Just do your best. I am more interested in you having a good attitude and effort as opposed to good grades.

She said, “I always try my best.”

She asked, would I take you back.

And I just said NO.

So she looked just a little sad, I said,

That will have to GO.

You never know what life can bring.

But of this I am sure.

I can say what caused this pain.

And I know the cure.

I tried, I tried, I tried and I’m not going back.

I tried. I tried. I tried and I’m not going back

I tried to be the one; I said.

Tried to be the cure.

I thought I was all that, and

Never was that pure.

You never know what life can bring.

And Devil’s had her day.

I know I can’t Dance or sing.

Now nothings in the way.

I tried. I tried. I tried and I’m not going back.

It’s unforgivable and inconceivable. This thing I did to you.

Uncontrollable. Inconsolable. These things I put you through.

I confess I did not know.

That you could not share.

You had it all in hand.

Things were going nowhere.

Are you just playing with me?

You good here all alone?

I have heard and I can see.

There’s no one on that phone.

It’s unforgivable, inconceivable. This thing I did to you.

You are uncontrollable, inconsolable. These things I put you through.

I confess I didn’t know.

That you couldn’t share.

Do you still see my place?

When you stop and stare?

It’s unforgivable. Inconceivable. The things I did to you.

Uncontrollable. Inconsolable. These things I put you through.

You were here and I disturbed.

All apologies.

You go right, back on track.

To your fantasies.

It’s unforgivable. Inconceivable. That’s what bad men do.

Uncontrollable. You’re inconsolable. These things I put you through.

Tired but I can’t sleep.

Awake and needing more.

I got the need to go back in.

Cause the banks are keeping score.

There is safety in the numbers.

There’s a game that is afloat.

I am somewhere in the darkness.

With a light that’s fading out.

Past 4 here on a Saturday.

Too cold to be outside.

I’ve been thinking about soliloquy.

Deep thoughts I could confide.

But there’s something in the way here.

And its nothing going on.

No mystery, no drama.

No cutthroats with a Con.

I’m not saying that I miss them.

Have they changed or just got old?

The sun has now dropped out of sight.

More old stories to be told.

I sometimes have these notions. Thoughts I try to rearrange.

Some of those odd art types, seem to me to be so strange.

Down at the bus stop, I hear some of them as they scream.

At the passing shining Tesla’s, that they can only dream.

They smoke and scowl and drink some more, down at the local ‘Booth.’

Bouncing cheques and complaining; an all round waste of youth.

I have all this notion, that they say is in my head.

If I be spitting and exsplaining, then it’s better there than said.

I have all these notions. They keep rolling in my brain.

I never saw them coming. And for some I can’t explain.

I was drowning in thick idealism.

Maybe you can guess the rest.

George said, “Remove head from your ass…

I think it might be best.”

The clean air it smells fantastic.

My friend George was more than right.

There’s this new trend, going plastic.

I’m giving in, not going to fight.