Before he was thirteen, life had as much a point as when it began,
He’d relisten to music, words no longer babble he’d flippantly chant,
Then he started to like their words, he could finally connect with someone else,
By the time he was thirteen, a lack of purpose poems managed to squelch
He’d talk with his grandma, one in the house with whom he could openly speak,
Told her ‘bout his poems, nervous, that like dad, she’d scoff at his feeling unique,
Went better than expected, she had loved poems just as much as him,
Came down from the attic, with as many books as would fit in a bin
After a week, he’d already worn through grandma’s stash,
Now finally inspired enough, he’d write naive and brash,
He puts himself in his work, and he puts his work online,
A dangerously intimate portrait, for such a fragile mind
“‘This poem is very poorly written, and isn't worth the time to be read in my opinion. No one has gives a shit about you whining about your fucking victim complex.
Kill your self.’”
credits
from I'll Die Before the Rest of me Changes,
released January 27, 2022
Song Writing, Lyrics, Performance, Sound Engineering, Production, Mixing and Mastering: Nathaniel Philip Havens
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