Truce's Journal,
07/27/01
The Enigma continues ...
Imagine life as you wished it could have been,
from the time you was a little kid.
Being the first one picked in dodgeball, or
basketball.
Or scoring the game-winner in football, or
baseball.
Or getting that one girl to notice you, or talk
to you.
Or being the center of attention and of your
world, for all the right reasons.
No envy, and no regrets.
And all eyes are on you, and it's lovely.
Like a line stolen from a Williams play, or a
Faulkner novel.
As alpha, the first.
With the world at your finger tips, like six
inches of steel.
With your music blasting your lyrics and your
crowd at your feet, begging you for more of you.
And package that all into a thought, or a
glimpse.
Or a sexy senorita eyeing you at the bar, and
asking questions about where she's seen you before.
Trying to take the shirt off your back, asking
for your attention from the front.
Men wanna be your boy, women wanna be your girl.
And you're showing each and every one of them,
and friends from the woodworks aren't friends they once were.
And it's all about the music, but it never is.
And it's all about you, but it never is.
And know that no one really knows you, or likes
you.
And that you're only as big as you play, or as
big as they think.
And all eyes are on you, and it's sickening.
And people you hate are your associates.
Like relatives you can't stand, or lives you
can't live.
And know that you want to give up, but realize
you can't.
Realize you can't lose what you have, or what
you are.
And ask yourself why you do it, and why you
don't.
As omega, the end.
Wish, and wonder.
Love, and hate.
Be me.
Be an MC.
Peace ...
