My Hope

Hope is in the almighty form of just staying alive, keeping my eyes open

Because when they drift close I swear I’m going to panic, I’ll know that the sickness found me

Sweat dropping down my forehead, thinking about when I’ll be dead

Before then hope is a stream full of blood, reality mixed with dreams flowing through the earth

I’ll be a drop of water that flows down stream

I’ll be there between rocks and passing fish toward the big city

Holding my breath, under the water?                      
Holding onto memories close to my chest, heading toward the big city

A town without pity, heading for big things

Maybe a couple of awards, a few rings for my mother

If it wasn’t for her I wouldn’t have been born, no other

And then maybe I can stand atop a mountain and look down at a city I have conquered

I might be covered in blood, but I had to pass through the jungle before climbing up the peak

Its love that I seek, but I might be just a bit to meek

As I float down that stream, maybe holding my love

I’ll be heading towards the waterfall clutching her with all my heart

My hope is that through all those years, I’ll have someone who can hold my hand that long

Someone who won’t just wanted float down stream with me, but who will want to fall down the waterfall

Bus Ride

There is a bus ride, that I take in the morning

Sun Rises as I’m yawning 
They say you can make a story out of anything

So let me write this song, you can sing

I’ve got sun in my eyes on this bus ride, feeling some breeze with the water in my eyes

Intercepting the life, but it’s not a pick six 
Siting next to an old woman who smells like the death sticks

Life is a blessing, driving across from blessings

A Chinese restaurant, the food is a blessing

Time that I’m missing, money that I’m pissing away

That’s why I had to ride the bus today
Next to shady characters, looking very hazardous

Life right now feels like swing or miss

I’m close to my destination, but I’m living and breathing underneath procrastination

And now I’m looking at skyscrapers that I blame for corporate mechanisms and greed

But they are institutions and programs that I use and need 
The bus ride is an eye opening thing

You feel like a peasent but theres no reason you can’t be a king

Self worth thrown into the mix and the devil gets his kicks

But life transcends large houses and cool bling

You are creatures, who…

Ride the bus, and if you want feel free to join us

GRAND

I preached unforgiving winters, wrote hot summers, plunged the shit down the pipes with conservative effort like Joe the Plumber. With an enlightened rage, i divided my page, multiplied the masses to the sum of all fears. Extracted every last tear, i bled out from my eyes, with the elegance of a oligarch and a nerd, simplifying the smarts to create a vocabulary thats never been heard. Im not supreme but i aim when i spit, my critics really arent shit, with their insults i hydrate my wit.

Im the prodigal son with cardiac detention, content with evolution as i smoke your dreams in mid air suspension. I may not have as much as you, but I breath, reconstruct and swerve with an audacity and ill die with my Strawberry Grandin Crew. My critics can half step, but they are an improper fraction, and i observe your rhetoric on a table of decimals, because you arent whole. Enjoy your lifeless cornish hen, antics are rotten, i mutilated your life with my four hundred dollar pen.

Grand is a conglomerate, compared to lost souls, ill pen a revolution to destroy motherfuckers with seperate goals. Searching for Gold, fiery with mean heat with intent to turn my self doubt into mincemeat. You are alive when you do something dangerous, I wrapped my aunts scarf around my hand, synthesized the sun with ink when i took the name of Grandin. I wrote this poem, and i felt so much pride. Lets unleash our fury and break stuff. I know when times had gotten rough, the loudest bird had a time when he wasnt tough enough. You are half as raw, drenched in fake grit, count my cuts and then my jewellery before i smash your jaw. Gold bracelet, we’re the new nation, you need to face it. We will cook, brew and bake delicious dishes with an aroma that smells so strong of success that i taste it. We didnt get here from slacking, Laura, Chris and I didnt live a perfect life, we created art from the dark nights full of tears and fears. This is Grand, on the count of three we stand, and run a marathon on the road to success. So ill go with good to great, Look me in the eyes, the field is dialated, so do you think you could knock me down and seal my fate?

WordSmith

Writers block is an affliction, i voyaged downstream to conflict my addiction. I dropped it like a bad habit, i blended animation with reality like Roger Rabbit, then threw in animosity to be emphatic. The writers block kept me in a straightjacket, humming a tune. He’d feed me once in a blue moon.

So i sat in the corner, creating a masterpiece in my head. The block struck my idea dead, and i cried for hours, i heard the ringing of the aecidic showers. The depressed apologist in the shadow of a high tower. I saw no flowers, or any beauty, my brain fought back but the block forced mutiny. I observed the waves of social regimes, i watched as the upper echelon prowled. I handled my heart by my spirit growled. It was time to write, Die or Fight. Take these clouds to an ominous sight. and build narrative around pure spite. Sprinkle the future with seeds, i wanted to watch something grow while my spirit fed upon the poetic dictator. A caniving self induced player hater.

So i built and i planned, the drive of fire never left my hand. The chains hurt my gaunt leg, that night was the worse because i was forced to plead and beg. Who the fuck said life was easy, the difficulty level continued to rise enough to make any punk queasy. I was born a wordsmith, assassinating every obstacle with my whimsical gift. This was my honor, my pain, and glory. I weave hate and love into a beautiful story, with a cruel end. As the world crumbles, ill leave my live to send.

It was sunrise and i opened my tired eyes. The sun shined a light on my fears, on the tears of a lost and dying soul. But my grandma taught not to listen to bullshit, so i tore off my ear. I was covered in blood, warmed my motivation of a savage improvisation. Its mud before the trophy above, the war came before the flock of doves. I pulled my leg from the chain, gradually leaving behind a past that was so bleak. Im Grandin, minutes, hours, days passed by i stand by my crash landing.

I was gone, the prison walls were burnt with my prototype heart. I had my armor and my pen, motherfucker Im ready to start. I wrote a symphony, comprised of jubilant lyrics and a falsetto heretic. I created an entity, my name is Grand in nature, so just call me the Brotha man. I had an epiphany, I love you, you love me, this world evolves, everyday there is more to see. I visited guilt’s grave while keeping every sweet memory I could save. Writers Block had an upper hand, Yo, im ambidextrous. This is a Statement