Young

I recall Valentine's, used to be a pal of mine
until the heart broke, kicked and crushed
I needed Calamine for the irritated battle lines
drawn across my chest the mess no dollar signs
could remedy from atoms clear to Palestine.
This little guy with acid nine
If you tried to ask him "why," he'd pass you by
last to find the answers that plagued him
hanged him out to dry.
Like sheets blowing in the wind no one helped him internalize the pain that let it tap the mind,
till there's nothing left to learn his time tables but disaster shine
sunlight on the mastermind.
The brine writers, limelighters, talent-show crime fighters,
hindsighters, looking back to trace the pain defining brighter paths to climb.
Math is fine for other students
but his fluent wisdom lies in matching lines together
like a graphic tetric bastard of the Saturn tribe,
bringing rings around the boundless beaches with his faster tide,
bringing in that energy for everlasting life.

Being young is scary, quite a load to carry,
and quite unordinary, therefore extraordinary.
Different is magic motion, sipping the magic potion,
to find one's true devotion.
Being young is scary, quite a load to carry,
and quite unordinary, therefore extraordinary.
Different is magic motion, sipping the magic potion,
to find one's true devotion.

I recall Fridays, used to be my days
young and in the hallways, kids leering sideways
at me and my new Jays, Walkman blasting Cool-J
On the bus, ride home, read what my eyes say.
Lazy for the weekend and the streets were my bridesmaids,
football till sundown that was the rundown, homebound, then up late
cherish every instant on the fly.
Grades, didn't matter to me much, evident on report cards and
lies I'd say about my life and raising hell to every teacher frustrated with me and my days
off. Attitude in class, I was daydreaming about the next friday,
the attitude would pass when it arrived.
The thought of having children stresses me to know
they'd have to find their way across the asphalt,
minor stage in my development, yet so relevant to my final page
for that final grade.

Being young is scary, quite a load to carry,
and quite unordinary, therefore extraordinary.
Different is magic motion, sipping the magic potion,
to find one's true devotion.
Being young is scary, quite a load to carry,
and quite unordinary, therefore extraordinary.
Different is magic motion, sipping the magic potion,
to find one's true devotion.

I recall fear being near every time I took a step
towards a mirror on a clear day,
weirdos are more weird,
it took years before "weird" was a term of endearment to this human here.
It appears that the dreary days I spent on yards praying were the teardrops of angels
spilling lessons on my layman's terms,
defining miracles occurred in daily life and city strife,
such pretty lights to see in retrospective gaming turn.
Bringing wisdom to a black bird, flapping through the park of echo
back to south central metro, with angel breath as my catcher
with this year pin to let go,
let it (go).

Being young is scary, quite a load to carry,
and quite unordinary, therefore extraordinary.
Different is magic motion, sipping the magic potion,
to find one's true devotion.
Being young is scary, quite a load to carry,
and quite unordinary, therefore extraordinary.
Different is magic motion, sipping the magic potion,
to find one's true devotion.