arivaca poems=Allergic to greatness....

Allergic to greatness or that's how it seems
When i get too close i get the skeevez
I cry, i moan, i beg and i pleazez
Im just too afraid to find the right reason to be just me...


When i loose my cool, when i loose my temper
It never goes out it goes back to the center
it sits & chills, rots & it festers
It boils over once a year in december


Lost and confused for all the right reasons
I say im confused because i can't count the seasons
that march it was winter
that summer was spring
but who watch over shuch trite little things


could i pick up my pants & started those poses
or do i lie along the road with the roses
chose the right choices because i could have chose them


im mearly messed up, a hypocrite
and everything else in spite of it