from by Ceschi



Catholic school boys rule
9 fingers to the sun
Happy you’re “Woke.”
I woke up fully clothed and broke as fuck
So repressed that I cringe when British folks say the word cunt
Systemically made us felons so we would never hold their guns
Only hire shooters
Never been to Hooters
If this was Los Angeles in ‘92 I’d be a looter
Kanye sends dick pics
I send dog pics
How the hell am I 36 and so fucking defiant?
Swam back to the trap, noticed most trap rappers are clients
Like clockwork, our country’s blessed and obsessed with ultra-violence
Working in the drug world you see a lot of grown men crying
I was actually born in July, most these guys are Leos, lion
Touch a lot of dollars, all of it I owe to others
Never wanted to fuck with crack after I saw it fuck my father
This life has a lot to offer
Sweet poisonous kisses from the lips of priests or devils’ daughters
Precious vixen mistresses quick to spit the venom in sync with several sicknesses
Severing heads with liquid sedatives
Sentiments slide like sedimentary mud
These fuckers won’t take me alive or touch what I’ve done
They’re not breaking my prime (*was supposed to say pride but I fucked up and kept it)
Man, I’m too fat to run so I’ll dive
Holy fuck!
Like the body of Christ inside of a nun’s cunt
“No. No. No. That’s too much!
You’re supposed to pose as a poet not grow into another punch-drunk-punk.”
Today I’m overthinking of a population that voted for Trump
Of that one time in junior high when a little boy called me skunk
Because he saw my skin was light but I wasn’t white enough
Thought English wasn’t my mother tongue because my family was Puerto Rican
Suburban Connecticut kids laughed at a name that sounded foreign
Never quite fit in with other ones on the teacher’s attendance list
In California, when I was eleven they asked me to “talk Mexican.”
Got so sick of explaining... eventually I just said yes
“Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes! That’s fine!”
Everything is a test
Everything falls in line, like flat ones on electrocardiographs when we die
Everything is a test
“I against, I against, I”
In the meantime, use those brains to redefine that life
Everything is a test
Everything falls in line, like flat ones on electrocardiographs when we die.


from Sad, Fat Luck, released April 4, 2019


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