DILLA DOG.
Rain one day, snow the next, and a nice sunny cloudless day today. The High Desert of California is a strange place to live in. Bet you can see the stars at night better than anywhere else in the state though.
The Boy Who Cried Wolf.
He
She
They
instilled it.
Drilled attitude into my mind.
—————-
Slender fingers, black and silver affiliation. Attractive cleanliness. Stereotypical mystique.
And then a few salty eye drips broke the fucking fourth wall. What I thought I knew, and what was staring me in the face all along
Vanished. Vanquished.
Sympathetic adolescent stranger? Age never equates wisdom.
My supposed ‘best kept secret’, withered down to fucking scribbles on childish, wide-ruled writing paper.
The mindstates of these many mindless mingling minors might massacre me.
But light that lies inside isn’t likely to lie.
—————-
Overweight, Novembered (possibly Decembered) instructor with a golden heart.
Literally.
Her 4 chambers have the same weight..
Fucking Heavy.
Pulling through
the difficulty of
uncertainty.
She lost him years ago.
Health rape.
Spending her days
stuffing her face
walking on sore legs
but there’s always more pills
to kill pain.
But in her glory days..
She’d be mashing piano keys with him, happy.
With no thoughts concerning whether (or not) her years will outnumber the combined 88 white and black.
It’s too late.
—————-
Father, are you frightened?
A feisty, 19-fifties fighter; affiliated with fair amounts of frivolous felons.
Fast-life motherfuckers.
Frosty fellows named Froggy, feeling like 40 ounces to Freedom.. and frankly?
I Finally figured it out.
A first (and only time) fuck-up.
Fucked up for life.
Feeling like a failure.
For life.
—————-
Mother, are you motivated?
Maybe a mess of malice and miles traveled alone might have misplaced your morals..
More likely, a Man made a mistake.
More menstrual memories,
more hormones
that
made
you mercilessly
murder
my memories.
Mommy…?
You’re.. missing.
—————-
I pay for your sins that you forgot to repent for.
Tension you can’t maul with a chainsaw,
even if I had a chainsaw.
No apologies.
Just underhanded insults being slung in each other’s directions.
Sometimes indirectly, through my ears.
Directly, to my ears.
My one shot at being normal,
being consistent,
being okay with life.
Vanished. Vanquished.
I act out, for I am hurt.
Snapping at nothing.
Inherited bipolar disorder.
Guilty addiction.
Apathy.
Cries for yelp.
‘Boy Who Cried Wolf’ syndrome.
Help.
-St.
V-Day.
Yesterday I saw a guy walking down the sidewalk
with his head on his chest,
alone
with ‘Someone Like You’ playing loud from his phone.
It was a pretty sad sight, but..
Come on.
That’s so cliché.
Throw on some Nick Drake.
Lol.
-St.
St.Even
There’s at least 2 rappers out there with a pseudonym similar to mine.
But from what I’ve heard and seen, they are a lot less marketable.
And a lot less original.
#Sorry. I call them how I see them. Aha.
Anyway, let’s be clear here:
I am St.Even.
No space between the St. And Even.
Steven Anaya is the only “St.Even” that matters.
Lol.
To be honest, this post is only so I’ll show up more on Google.
So if everyone following me could help me out by Googling “St.Even” (along with “Tha Monkey House” and maybe a few more Hip-Hop related tags that describe me) and clicking on my pages, I would really appreciate it.
I’m just caught up in deception and lies
I have days of waking up
just hating the sunshine
hating life
hating death for taking it’s time
but loving you too much to
commit the ultimate crime.
My suit is dark.
My clouds are grey.
And all things around me
pass away.
Well what if I leave?
Yeah, that’s what I’ll do — I’ll leave.
Because 88 keys is all I got to lose.
That ain’t much; you can have them shoes.
I’m dying to love,
I’m dying to play,
I’m dying to get out of here..
I’m dying to live.
-3K
•••
You’re in tears again
and I’m sick of it.
I hate playing this part.
I’ll desperately try
to avoid asking you
any questions
you don’t have the answers to.
Instead I’m
forced to be
forcing the things
you taught me
back onto you
to help ease our pain.
But nobody…
Nobody
ever listens to their own advice.
Nobody questions why
— truly why
we can be on top of the world
for a moment
and then fall completely off of it
the next.
Is this really how things work?
Am I better off
Disposing of
the innermost feelings
that made me?
Those same ones that
differentiated me
from the other boys
(always)
and
helped me believe that this world
is much more than
water I can’t swim in
land I won’t walk on
sky I can’t touch?
Am I better off..?
I never want to know.
-St.
