This is a poem I wrote at 4:30 AM. It doesn’t follow any guidelines because real gangstas don’t follow rules.
There’s the stage set before you, it might implore you to explore who has been here before. The audience claps as you map out your next joke for your material.
The controversial topic, the relevancy, this one thing that has been killing me.
What you love, what you hate, how you can’t seem to find a date.
Everyone’s talking about this, but this is your spin
It bombs but you think you can try it again.
Hear a chuckle out of pity, you talk about the city and the people in it and how it still feels shitty.
You’re broke, you’re poor, you feel your ideas are worth more but
Those ideas lack in fact and theory because even through this mic, these people they don’t hear me…
See the glow from someone’s phone and there you begin to sink trying to think of where your life would have gone if you hadn’t got that liberal arts degree. Race relations, radio stations, “Hitler reference” and penetration. They’re on board now..
You get personal, talk about the girl you like, how you had a fight, but something doesn’t feel quite right.
The exes, the sexists, Craigslist missed connections, battle of races and the sexes, how you think sex is, the e-mail messages from Texas saying you’re not good enough, we didn’t like your clip
So you bite your lip, hoping maybe in 365 days
You’ll count the ways to get into that festival because hey, it’s a marathon, not a sprint.
Every day is make or break, this bit, that tag
Here’s that guy you see at an open mic you roll your eyes at cause he thinks he can get a laugh by randomly saying “nigger” or “fag”.
But as you digress you don’t need further stress, you’re doing your best to wait your turn
Because for 4 minutes they’ll learn who you are
You live and die by every laugh or lack thereof
Those 3 dollar drinks start to add up realizing you’re out of luck
You started with 20, after 5 PBRs your wallet is fuuuuucked.
But it’s your passion, it’s your dream. You moved all this way and it seems
You see a new face every day trying to do the same exact thing.
A year from now some of them will be gone, some will be better
Some will move past you and from the back room it’s whatever
But the reality and jealousy sets in and it kills to see
That that bit killed.
Get home at 2 AM, a clown taking off his make-up one more night
Ready to wake up to afternoon light and prepare for the eve where you do it all again. A life of jokes and drinks to keep you on hinge.
We have to laugh to keep from crying
The reality is we’re all dying, that’s all you want them to see
So if you’re going to die…die laughing, even if it’s at me.