Let Me Remember

I can't see myself anywhere else

Though the past twenty makes the next two years seem like a feat in itself

Hearing different people in my circle steady screaming for help

With no life lines, maybe I should keep the preservatives on the shelf

Alone they could better their health

Always asking for a hand when they can't lend a nigga hand to themselves

One hand on their cell phone the other on the wheel that they dealt to get

But can't feed their own kids in their selfishness

So they expect me to shell, back then they knew me as

The nigga with wealth; sure I had a couple ends I could truly pass

But cash isn't everything, that's where they didn't think correct

So they lost one, no ties lost & no disrespect

Some women only knew my sex, I still see them

Now their new men aren't half of my human being

The type of women a rich boy would try to throw some double D's in

Gladly now they made me a tad bit vehement

Enough to turn backs on their precincts, and those things I'd frequent

I only wanted attention, but they would want to be slightly indecent

I can't see myself doing that again only to bend odd formations

Or claim I was just trying to find a replacement

You can't recooperate loneliness with a couple new faces

With obvious obsessions with laying their head by my waist, shitttt

Now days I don't flatter the hoes, I can't even two face them

There have been dark nights as of late, writing heath ledgers to face them

Lately there's been a couple with sharp tounges

When I go back to where I high school grew up

Despite Tampa Bay, Florida; the only thing I threw up

Was a new sense of self reliance in my musessssss

Writing past the margin on my looseleaf, just to come to terms

Niggas laughed at me foolishly while they hit on ugly women with their perms

I wasn't really concerned until my family stepped in

Saying shit along the lines of... if I keep to not living life I won't learn

So I took that to heed, went back to cutting down trees

Finally felt some relief

Those days were the truest to me, the ones where I wasn't sober I mean

I can recollect those days more than the ones I could walk my own two feet

One day I spirit walked right into an Indian chief

Slightly helpful; he made me weigh my pen against weed

I did and chose to light one last sicamore leaf, clasp my ball point pen

And write until my hand came to bleed

In two years I had enough of a written account

That I couldn't sweat the inspiration fast enough out of my head

At one point wished I was dead, took a mental scribe

Maybe 2 more years isn't as bad as it could seem in my eyes

So I choked my tears for seven years and I swallowed my pride

Let it loose again just recently, now some close friends stopped beeping me

Saying they don't know what I'm stressing about!, why would you smoke?!

Maybe when I hit my grandmother's age I'll put the cigarettes out

To be continued... or revised?