Exact Approximations

Exact Approximations

A Poem by Sayre

I'd overwrite a whole slate of history to save face
Just in case, there's a time I can't recall my yesterdays
Can't pick up the phone to dial digits of my past
That's the reason that I keep it written in this spiral bound flask

Every piece a memoir, this collection a book
The things I've learned, I teach to the students who took
A closer look at every word, and heard every sound
That came from the mouths of those who know what they're talking about

And I've hung on every word from eh best in the game,
But in your case, you might say, the best of the lame
The worst of the worst, the mold in the trash, the hair on the backs
Of the men who have their heads stuck to far up their asses

Because I turned out to be an a*****e, wholeheartedly
My heart's so cold, its grown old and tired its startling
I prematurely may have hid it form the sun
Because my once Number Ones, have made me feel like Number None at once

S**t, this isn't about you, it isn't about me
It's about these observations that reveal themselves to be seen
I try to keep these bars harmless, but they cause conflict regardless
Of the situation, or the syllables that I put on it.
It's not about you, it's not about me
In fact, I don't think I'm saying much of anything
Other than a few thoughts ricocheted off the dome
Fully prone to escape my chest to this microphone

You know, I'm okay with taking the good along with bad
The sorrows along with the laughs, as long as I'm not mad
Because I don't have time for that
In 80 years I'll stop wearing snap backs to have it replaced with a black jacket

Inside of my casket with black pants to match it
Laying down, stretched out, end to end, like elastic
Biceps contracted over my chest cavity
And that happens to be the way that it's supposed to happen
When you're feeling sex feet deep in the havoc
And your new habit is to sleep, take a nap quick
Wake to being wake, muscles as sore as the day before
And you can't handle the pressure anymore

But you finally finished your five days of nine to five shifts
And when you get home, you're just gonna sip some
Sit some, relax a bit, some n****s like to hit some
But me? I won't have none. But I'll laugh talk and pass one
Listen to instrumentals and spit a fast one
Put on your mask and ask them, I hit harder than a gas gun
Three hundred words later, I might like to be done
But my mind isn't at ease so I keep going


Isn't it a shame when you hear countless rappers on the mic
Who can't spit and think they're tight
But their substance isn't right and the recipe is off
I just scoff until I see all the money they made off with

And isn't it a b***h when you see what a crooked tongue could get
Mixed with black phlegm, yellow teeth and bad breath?
And you keep your mouth clean; brush daily, floss all of your teeth
Scrape your tongue and cheek, even rinse with Listerine

There may have been a time where I didn't watch my hygiene
Then, I was washed up. Now I'm cleaner than bleached white jeans
And stopped all of my slobbering, spitting about probably nothing
And handing over all my germs to the recycling

I'm not saying it wasn't hard, I wasn't great from the start
But after six years I've gained a couple scars
I've learned some different tricks, learned to gold coat all my bars
Gained some knowledge and some wisdom, when to discard and to start

And all I've asked was to have a bit of recognition
If I had the right person to sit, take a second and listen
I'd glisten in the moments I was in the play position
"My signature? Gimme a sec. I ain't even sittin' yet."


© 2011 Sayre

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Added on July 31, 2011
Last Updated on July 31, 2011



Pinole, CA

I am 17, as of this January [2010]. I live for the most part with my dad, and Visit my mom about twice a month. I cant really complain about much, my life has been pretty easy. As for everybody else, .. more..


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