Picking Her Nose

Some ladies pick their noses a lot.
I think they think I think it's hot. It's not.

It's kinda gross ya know?
Her holding my hand after picking her nose

I'm like "Get your finger out of there!"
But apparently she doesn't care.
If she did she would grab a tissue or something.
I tell her it's an issue. She screams "It's nothing!"
Tells me that I'm being a prick.
I say "I'm sorry, I just think it's gross when you flick"

She tells me that I'm simply breaking her heart,
I guess I should never even mention her farts.
If I did she'd probably pull off my head off like a booger.

And my friends, that brings the point of this story,
watch your mouth with the ladies, or things will get gory.

I'm Messing You Up If You're Putting Him Down

Right now his friends are few, but that really isn't his choice.
He wishes there was more he could do, or that he could still hear her voice,
But what's eating him through is that once he actually did have a choice.
Choices. That's what this story is about,
Because at first he was a monster, who took too much
But in the end, he chose to go without.
Instead of trying to walk, he tripped and took a crutch.

Sometimes we make choices based on what's right,
Usually we know that after we'll be alright.
But this time my friends, it just wasn't the case.
He knew it would hurt, and he stared it in the face.
I know you guys all talk about how he has himself to blame,
But aren't you forgetting that he chose to endure shame?
No, he locked himself in and won as he lost the game.
He threw out darkness, while it tried to call his name.
Now he just sits there. Sadly things aren't the same.

It's gonna follow him around for the rest of his life.
In job interviews, or maybe when he's trying to find a wife.
But the beautiful thing is that this life, though it's sad and it's wrong,
It's short. And when he leaves he'll know it was worth it all along.

Nightmares of Flight

All the words I know by heart.
But if I take them to heart, I can't tell.
I could learn about birds and gain some smarts
And I wouldn't fly any more well.
I could write you a book on how not to fall apart,
My words, they could save you from hell.
I know all these answers. Trust me I do,
But if I told you they were me it wouldn't be true.
So I won't. I guess I'll just tell you the truth,
Even though the idea chills me.
I'll do it though, I'm no more than a youth,
Yet I already know that lies cannot fill me.
Or maybe they can, but I know the boat leaks
And now with my bucket I'm bailing
I'm using my hands, but I'm not going where I seek.
I stopped paddling, because with this bucket I'm flailing.
I need to shower. I know that I reek.
But my boat is filling. In everything I'm failing.
I don't have power. We both know I'm not meek.
So I frantically dump it out, not paddling or sailing.
If I only patched the hole. Apparently there's a leak.
Maybe I can stop the water before it starts raining.

The truth? Sometimes I wish I was me
Looking at myself. It sounds prideful I know.
But then I'd know my thoughts. I'd give advice to me.
Advice that me, and just me would know.
Cause there's all this fear, this anxiety around me.
There's these struggles I never had the pleasure to know.
Then the other ones, the chains that still surround me.
I could write myself a book from the stuff I know.
My heart isn't in it, but I do know how to help me.
If you were a bird, I'd know all you need to know
To get you up in the air, to flap your wings,
To care but not care, to burst out and sing,
To know life isn't fair, it's cruel and it's mean.
To see what's everywhere, live in it and stay clean.
I know my fair share, though I'm nothing but a teen.
Sometimes I can't get anywhere.
The truth is, I don't know a thing.

Everything is Something.

Hang on a sec,
Let me sit on my ass little longer.
I'll just hang out while you sit on yours.
I'm not a wreck.
I've realized I'm not becoming much stronger.
Because though I feel rain, it doesn't really pour.

Usually I watch from the light of day.
I look on as the lightning cracks from above you.
From my umbrella to your cloud of gray.
I'll step into your storm because I love you.

In the end though, it's your storm, not mine.
What am I saying? I don't know the end, it's not time.
I don't know anything, cause right now I'm fine.
In the end though, I know everything will shine.

What scares me is you guys. I feel for you the most.
How can I live my life when so many of you are toast?
But that's just it. I have problems too.
Most of them are minor, some of them are you.

But I still feel young. I'm still inexperienced.
I still haven't found the balance I need.
I know that I've changed. Nobody could deny it.
But change isn't always growth, so I don't know.

Why can't I land in the middle somewhere?
Why do everyone's perspectives always vary?
Why am I so overloaded by this nothing?
Is it just the fact that I really do care?
Or that I'm a fool for finding the unknown scary?
Or maybe it's that there's actually something.
Maybe I'm climbing a big flight of wooden stairs,
Some steps rotting out, and some made of fine cherry.
Maybe when I reach the top it'll be taken from me there.
A burden that I'll no longer ave to carry.
Which will be replaced by another mysterious something.

The will always be another stairwell.
There is always an upper story.
And until I give life a farewell,
I guess I'll be writing this story.

Stopped and Going.

I'll probably just repeat it. I don't trust myself to stop.
Maybe say it different ways, and you'll make it fit together.
Embarrassment because of it, The end. It's all dropped.
It'll never be a craze. In this blizzard you cant see the weather.

Here I am, sitting around busy, watching the fantasy.
The fantasy stings, cause I hate it so much.
In the fantasy you're dizzy. The fantasy is reality.
Oh what fun it brings. It's your giant devious crutch.

You're lying, and I know the secret.
Theres something small on the sideline, just try and shake it off.
It hurts me. Cause I know you'll reap it.
The thing you ignore, time after time. It'll come back. You'll be sent off.

I cannot tell what I'm doing. It looks oh so great.
I'm wrestling, as I just keep running laps.
These fantasies keep brewing, the fantasy that I hate.
I know so much truth, and then you produce gaps.

I can handle nightmares, I really don't mind Freddy.
But the world. The world I see. I watch it spring up.
I now have these cares. The truth is I'm not ready.
But it's ready for me, and I can't make it wait up.

It's the everyday that's scary. I don't mind the dreams.
It's the stuff I can't say, not because it's impure,
I'm not gonna be a fairy. I'm a man, and I'm me.
But theres so much left to say, and there isn't really a cure.

I think about being humble, as pride screws me again.
It's my thoughts. I cling to them. I haven't solved their mystery.
I feel another stumble, from another oblivious friend
I might not cling on to them, but I can't let the clues be history.

An older brother, another year.

Remember that one time, I nicknamed you Pid?
A new joke of mine, It was short for stuPid.
But then you chuckled, and nicknamed me Stu.
The conversation buckled, the joke wasn't on you.
You turned it around, and our laugh became one
We stand on level ground, and know how to have fun.

When you say something really dumb, I find it hilarious.
You've laughed at my jokes some, when others are precarious.
I might say something lame, like "Dude, I think you're car is pimp,
it really steps up your game. If it was a prius you'd be a wimp."
When so many of these others, would look at me and respond,
"Dude you and your brother, your minds must be gone."
But you and I both know, we're totally legit.
And our confidence bro, it makes us a bigger hit.

You also paint pictures. They're quite amazing works of art.
You're definitely mature. Mom says I just sit around and fart.
Even though it's not true, I don't pass that much gas.
I usually hold it in, cause I gotta find myself a lass.
But around you my dear Pid, it's a beautiful thing.
We act like little kids, to me, happiness you bring.

When I think about it now, it almost makes me wanna tear.
Cause as I write these words down, I realize you've always been near.
Sure you now live downstate, so we aren't actually hanging out,
But I can put the phone to my face, and a conversation will sprout.
So Cameron, on your day of birth, my brother, my friend, my Pid.
I respect you for living life with girth, and how we act like little kids.

Them. And them.

Enter in. They will love you.
They cannot see inside.
They will see their desire.
In your skin you will hide.

Step out. They won't mind you.
A newfound fight for pride.
In the darker climbing higher,
Trying to show them my guide.

Reveal thinking. They won't get you.
Explain instead of hide.
They're appalled at your fire.
At least you can say you tried.

Meet again. They can't hear you.
The confused glance spreads wide.
You try to explain your buyer,
The significance of how he died.

Look back. Have they moved with you?
They don't know why you just cried.
While you're sifting through the mire
They feel instead that you have lied.

Persevere. They recognize you.
They realize how much you've tried.
But they're slipping off of the wire,
The wire to which you cling tight.

Turn away. Sure, they'll miss you.
But they can't grasp your mind.
They just don't see your inspire.
They want you to just get it right.

Hold fast. Maybe they'll join you.
Progress has been made inside.
Theres a chance they'll experience your fire.
So there you'll still reside.