Key-latch kids seem to make up
The inner-core
Of who I choose to hang around.
Even the deadbeats I left awhile ago to get sober
And now they’re reduced or sober too,
With a lot less variety in their
Poisoned-personality-pool.
We didn’t have money for preschool.
I feel you.

Languished Summers and I swapped
A T-shirt you told me you really liked for 4 years
Or from forever-before
And I finally told you I stopped wearing it
Or for my meat: beat-the-game bodybuilder pals:
I busted the seams for you myself.
This odd understanding.
Only Gal in the Room,
All my friends are dudes.
And suddenly I’m 13 with a developed body
And I ain’t got a friend in the world.

It wasn’t that I didn’t fit in; because that’s accustomed and not necessary to be acknowledged.
The Masculinity Factor?
Years of arguments being called “a bitch?”
Then I plagiarize a College 103 Class in
Regional/Slang + Cultural-Dialects
About the article usage.
As in – That Bitch.
Dat Bitch.
The Bitch
Not-no-Little Bitch,
Is also accepted seamlessly.

Ghetto d’voures and pepperoni pizzas made with a whole Loaf
And someone got butter.
The day we could afford an electric coffee pot – felt like we were adult corporate-bummers.
So much so missing a use, of grind+hustle
And I live with my parents
But it’s been awhile since I’ve had dinner
at – the table?
TV Trays and personal rooms for show premieres
Never put your campbell’s suit in a pot –
The Family Argument watching Matilda: JUST PUT THE DAMN CAN ON THE BURNER.
And somehow someone’s making burgers with fire in an
Oil-barrel.
And pickled things from last month or century or two ago,
Are the quick snacks
Instead of bodega-pastry-art
Checking if it’s mostly crumble[I gotta buy that specific for my homme, he like the jammy ones.], or shardy. [mine, extra-crust.]
Punch the burger-peel, I do this because I made them in metal-wheels.

It’s batter that way.
Than to act like my cool-crispy-drink
Of creativity, went flat.
That’s just Alto to me, duudz.