Tuesday, January 2, 2018

The Failed Art of Playing My Hand Dealt In Cards

Years are going by faster, yet there's so much I haven't yet mastered, like that art of selling myself, I desperately need financial help, tho I work diligent and hard, I don't seem to be doing it smart, cuz I'm still in the red, think I'll be in debt even after I'm dead, thought being coupled, would lessen the trouble, however he's worse off than I am, I believe insurance is a scam, our government and especially Congress, are basically just conning us, their salaries keep annually going up, while the middle class shmucks get fucked, I'm actually working class poor, a tax refund dilemma screwed my credit score, why have temp agencies replaced hr departments, I'm over and tired of political arguments, I hate both parties, have no chance winning the lottery, mostly cuz I don't play, I feel persecuted for being gay, especially being a white rapper too, am I naive to think success might happen soon, somehow miraculously, my song will wind up on the radio magically, how is that people go viral, my whole life's been a downward spiral, and I'm waiting to bottom out, do ya'll believe in a solemn vow, why isn't my struggle an uphill battle, my hope and pride aren't simply rattled, they're being crushed, my music seems rushed, cuz of others procrastinating dragging their feet, no wonder I can't accomplish my goals/dreams, I'm not even close to my peak, I'll keep aspiring to make it in hip hop til I'm 43, at 44 I won't have the desire anymore, I'm sure I'll be defeatedly bored, maybe I'll become a producer instead, try to manage to get other artists ahead, to succeed where I failed, perhaps winning a Grammy was always a tall tale, a story based in fantasy or fiction, I crave money so it's like an addiction, except I never get my fill, credit and debit's replace dollar bills, they're pretty much obsolete, I should just accept defeat, and give in to the notion of the eternal 9 to 5 curse, it really hurts worse, knowing I willingly threw in the towel, but I feel like I hit the Wheel Of Fortune bankrupt and can't afford to buy a vowel, even tho it's only $2.50, at least my songs uplift me, and a select few, who relate to my view, understand my talent, my efforts been valiant, but I'm a complete and utter failure, was hoping to be like Pac or Lauryn Hill and become rap's savior, maybe I'll be appreciated post mortem, and the next generation will say a ghost taught em, cuz it's true a soul's essence never dies, I always tried to put my heart blood sweat and tears I've cried, all into my art, guess I never figured out how to play the hand I was dealt in cards!

Peace and 1,
Joe Conscious

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