"Hear This!"
They say I’m an attractive sin
saddled in for a ride through life.
Latched in, I spin, rewinding
times until day entwines night.
Soon, the cellar doors open,
hoping for a chance to see
a hell of a stellar performance.
Street dwellers had stormed in.
She had type 2 helter skelter,
all I could do was help her absorb it.
She swore in dormant vibrations because
my signing always left her hazed and defunct.
I prayed that she’d run away with the sun,
so she could taste and embrace what she loves.
Instead we would fuck and mix our rushed pace with our luck.
Friends would say, “Ace that’s what’s up!.” Or “Ace, pass the blunt!”
And so I did… then found more haze and unwrapped a dutchmaster.
Clutch!
So then I would blaze and grab some lunch for her to eat at home.
She didn’t like the public much, let alone the disease she’s grown.
That’s what she called it, I told her it was merely a disability.
More so a wish of being free. I speak, “At least you have mobility.”
She screamed wearily, “You know there’s such great bliss in killing me.”
I told her I didn’t agree, to stop with the threats and to show tranquility.
Anyways… let’s get back to the show, where we sit last in our row.
We didn’t know his name, but his tunes packed some miraculous flow.
Her passions sits in tow behind each strum of the man’s guitar.
I planned my part : to get drunk and seek love in a damn cigar.
Wish I had the balls to start a riot, but she wouldn’t be budging.
She’s the soil underneath the tree for my seeds to breathe…
…and I’m just the wooden beam fuckstick.
That’s all I’m good for, we’ve established we have no fun in public.
I wouldn’t take her to the moon if I proved such a budget.
Even on the way here she told me there was no room for my luggage.
That it’s just her boom boom I’m in love with,
though that ass does makes tunes when I jump it.
If I rub it she’s entrusted, her ignorance I’ve grown to known
as simply insignificant, difference is I’m known to grow.
She uses me for sex and a good time, I guess I do the same.
I’m the best at my own game, but if I lose then who’s to blame?
I don’t know sign language, and my lips don’t stretch when I talk.
Only thing she knows about is sex, a true deaf dialogue.
Enough of my rambling, our relationship is dismantling.
What’s worse is that this whole time I never knew how to handle it.
“If you want to take a deaf girl out, don’t take her to see live music.
You’re useless, you don’t even ask what I want, you just assume it.”
Peaceful we are not,
shocked? I feel regal
reeling in what’s deemed
see through or blocked.
Our differences are lethal.
They breathe through causes
that decide what’s equal
or what’s been eating
away at her thoughts.