Nothing is easy for me.
I don't trust easy.
My mother made me golden.
She taught me
how to outsmart probable outcome-
gave me brains,
not bronze.
There is empty space
between myself
and third place.
Nothing can't stop me.
So much has tried.
Watch who you love most
get their head pounded
between a boot
and the kitchen floor,
then tell me I haven't
seen depression.
I'm still trying to forget
the sound of that second,
the sound of hopeless.
She survived for us.
I know she did,
we don't talk about it
because it makes her tear up.
But She's my holy book;
Gabriela De Los Angeles Cortez.
Nina Bella.
She showed me better than to waste away
when the world told me I was stupid.
Fat.
Lazy.
Weak.
Slow.
Useless.
Fuck the world.
I'm all of the shit
that's wrong with life
put together right.
I'm the bastard,
the addict,
the sailor's mouth,
the abuser,
the victim,
the narcissist
the statistic,
I'm the motherfucking
last stand.
And I don't get quitting,
not on living. Not on being alive.
My mother told me,
"You don't give up on what you were born to do."
I'm a fistful of dollars,
you're a smoking gun.
And there is two inch thick
bulletproof glass
between us.
So You can't stop now, not when
there are so many fascinating
details to what makes you happy.
But what I'm holding
it don't buy happiness.