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See this?
This is what I used to be
What I used to think was cool
‘Cause as you see
It was never “in” to be yourself
So you bought a brand name
To replace your own
Well,
That old me died
He died when I realized
It wasn’t the real me
So for a moment, I supported Nike
I just did what I had to do
I took my knife and with it’s anger and hate
I slit his throat
And with his death
I was born
My parents
They don’t understand
Like the ignorance of racism
They criticize
Not realizing this is who I am
Regardless of who they wish I was
I leave them
As confused as a writer
With a piece of carpet
So what, you think
That I am just like everyone else you see?
You’re wrong
You are but a blind man in the desert
Wandering aimlessly
Your knowledge, as incomplete as his
You are no Atlajala
You can’t see inside the depths of my mind
Articulate advisors
Advertise the age to come
But what I see is chaos
Chaos consuming and controlling society
You know nothing about me
You’re just a number
Ticking down your own days
Like Irani’s “Notes from the Womb”
All you know is yourself
You wonder what the outside would look like
But you’re just a prisoner in Plato’s cave
I am who I am
My convictions will stand with me
I am no Oedipus
You can’t destroy me
My eyes show me who I’ve always truly been
“GTA will escape worst of severe rain warning”
It’s a shame
If you knew the body count
Massacres take place every day
You think you know about
Everything that happens simply because
You read the news?
‘Cause you’re just the neighborhood whore
You take everything you get, no questions asked
You don’t know lose like mine
To lose your sister
To be helpless and to have no memory of her
Is like losing a piece of yourself
I have never felt whole
You think you know me?
You know only strangers
You really want to get into my head?
Write, as Edward Allie once said
“I write to find out what I’m thinking about”
And John Hawkes, listen to his words
When he told us writing is an act of revenge
This is my vengeance
I’ll always be the outcast
I have the disease no one understands
Which is why, I’ll never be good enough
I’ll keep writing about love
To prove to myself I deserve such a reality
I’ll keep writing about her
To prove to myself I deserve her in my life
I’ll keep trying to remain myself
To prove that I really have changed
‘Cause who I am hates who I’ve been
And Who I’ve been was only as real as the plastic
I abused when I bought my way though life
This is the real me.
My parents
They don’t understand
Like the ignorance of racism
They criticize
Not realizing this is who I am
Regardless of who they wish I was
I leave them
As confused as a writer
With a piece of carpet
So what, you think
That I am just like everyone else you see?
You’re wrong
You are but a blind man in the desert
Wandering aimlessly
Your knowledge, as incomplete as his
You are no Atlajala
You don’t know me
Articulate advisors
Advertise the age to come
But what I see is chaos
Chaos consuming and controlling society
You know nothing about me
(Stay in tune for the FULL version, as well as a RECORDING of the performance)
- Francis Frustration
