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Jason Ratterree Poem
Pen nothing but sentiments the simple thoughts of simple men simpletons tryna simply slice and dice my elegance. I dance in my far from fancy pants, i’m a far-gone man comin’ from far-off lands, with a forgone gaze, a home on the range haze. The last rapper on the left, call all the other batters till only one mad hatter’s left, i’ll give you my mad talent’s best, then miss the ball three times and get distressed. I’m no american psycho, american loser, pursue through the hype tho, I don’t match your tempo, I work only on my own pace. Look only at my own face, book shows only at my own place, when I set to bat I never leave home plate
But my home ain’t great, slow rolling. Death fakes, death scares and heartbreaks. The heart takes all it needs, become a sad sack boy you born to bleed, back for blood, back to score, back at the plate but nobody’s here anymore; whole park’s empty. Hark, I mark plenty of ne’er-do-wells, criminals, thieves, I find myself amongst their ranks, not what amongst I must believe
What am I supposed to see except pain before my eyes? Strained living, you exist but you are not alive. Many pains choke, break you, they broke you, and all the rich say is i’m glad i’m not you. Well I don’t wanna be me, but it’s all I can be. When I see me, I see a boy who pleads for a better life, free of strife type documents, hypin up a life that he can’t even represent, wishin for a reality that’s impossible to be livin in, barely existing in his own frame, body’s just a means of transportation, his brain is a cage. His soul- enraged, but he doesn’t believe he has one. Loaded guns, but they’re all filled with blanks, bright suns shining on a sad cold face
What do I do to go forward? To keep myself from gettin so bored I stop abhoring the thought of putin lead in the top of my totem? I’m lonesome, more ghost than alive, more zombie than person, boy i’m barely still breathin i’m so in tired, all the I admire, how none of it’s me, how it in hearts to breathe when I realize i’m still kickin. Confront myself every day of every week and every weekend. I like to think about what it’s like to not feel my heart beatin and feel the peace find me as i’m finally defeated
Yet still I live, still I breathe, still I give, still I take, still I want, and still I hope, and still I front the fact that I can’t be broken- not yet, lotta good things to do and I still got some left. So not gonna die, least not at this moment, you cannot break what is already broken
Copyright © Jason Ratterree | Year Posted 2021
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