Fistful of dollars

Nothing is easy for me.
I don't trust easy.

My mother made me golden.
She taught me
how to outsmart probable outcome-
gave me brains,
not bronze.
There is empty space
between myself
and third place.

Nothing can't stop me.
So much has tried.

Watch who you love most
get their head pounded
between a boot
and the kitchen floor,
then tell me I haven't
seen depression.
I'm still trying to forget
the sound of that second,
the sound of hopeless.

She survived for us.
I know she did,
we don't talk about it
because it makes her tear up.
But She's my holy book;
Gabriela De Los Angeles Cortez.

Nina Bella.

She showed me better than to waste away
when the world told me I was stupid.
Fat.
Lazy.
Weak.
Slow.
Useless.

Fuck the world.
I'm all of the shit
that's wrong with life
put together right.
I'm the bastard,
the addict,
the sailor's mouth,
the abuser,
the victim,
the narcissist
the statistic,
I'm the motherfucking
last stand.
And I don't get quitting,
not on living. Not on being alive.
My mother told me,

"You don't give up on what you were born to do."

I'm a fistful of dollars,
you're a smoking gun.
And there is two inch thick
bulletproof glass
between us.
So You can't stop now, not when
there are so many fascinating
details to what makes you happy.
But what I'm holding
it don't buy happiness.

Fuck yes, I am drunk and this is fantastic.

Because I feel like a complete idiot for saying I'd leave a reply last time (I never did, bastard I am), I feel like I'll have to revisit this tomorrow. My first point is that I want us to write something. My second point is that I like how perspective comes into play in this. The viewpoint your writing comes from is developed in a completely different sphere than most writers. I feel like I'm talking with you when I read this, like from the first couplet you're answering my question or breaking down life in it's sorry excuse for being. I like the violent imagery - kick and depression, the ultimatum between either being it all or being nothing, in reference to third place. The smoking gun definitely appeals to me. The mother as the gun, you as son of a gun. Can we write something titled as that?
I like how you take poetry and say fuck you to its face. Not enough people do that and you do it like it's a career. All I can ask for is more; more cursing, more colloquialism, more honesty.
Two thumbs up and a molotov cocktail for this.

That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said about my poetry. Like seriously, my day is set to be fucking dope after reading that. I really could care less about awards, it's feedback like that which makes posting here worthwhile.

I'm really thankful that a handful of writers on here follow my work close enough to see the growth and see further into my pieces, which are often perceived as very literal. Although, I do have to admit that I'm a bit hesitant posting stuff on here because of my style. I do tend to ramble, and I do put a lot of inclusive bits in my pieces(things that only two or three people would really get) so it is always a surprise to me when my work is received well here. Even if that was all said in drunkness, I'm taking it.

yeah, you was gonna get back to my piece. Still waiting.

This is some nice personal writing. I hardly think there's anything the two or three people you say would see here that's missed me. I liked every line in this man. The chest-thumping and the sense of awareness to your own imperfections and your defiance towards it. It really does make someone want to read this to themselves.

Quote:

---

There is empty space
between myself
and third place.

---

amen.

This isn't meant to be judged on anything other than message and meaning.

Sometimes, the most simplistic message is the most powerful. Bonhoeffer against Hitler, Rosa Parks against racism, Christ's message against the religious authority.
This piece speaks its own language. The point is reenforced with every word and line. It kind of picks up momentum and leaves you with a quiet awe. Its the heart in this poem that makes it amazing. Everything else is secondary.
With a proper rhythm and maybe more rhyme, this would be a dope as fuck piece of spoken word.

I liked the ambition of this piece man.

Quote:

---

She showed me better than to waste away
when the world told me I was stupid.
Fat.
Lazy.
Weak.
Slow.
Useless.

---

Those were my favorite lines based on the fact that I haven't really seen that structured used to rhyme an ending line like that....that shyt was just dope in my opinion.....wondering if other heads will catch it also.

Man I really dug this piece....It had this edginess to it like this Drake confidence but then it also had like this defeatist vibe to it....like even though I'ma keep failing who says that I have the luxury of getting to be a failure and a QUITTER.

I enjoyed this piece.

I didn't like the two line opener...to me it didn't set up the poem and could be axed.

"Nothing can't stop me" made me pause, it's confusing >.> especially since the cadence seemed to pick up its pace..idk.

your piece reminded me that everyone takes their turn being each of those titles to varying degrees throughout their lives...because someone will make you into a victim or an abuser, someone with a leg up on you in one area will call you out at the same time others are giving you props...and on and on.

I didn't get the ending off the first read...I take the glass to be either fate or determination. I think what you're saying at the end is both money doesn't buy happiness and "I dont have anything for you(to make you happy)" etc

sorry if I missed the mark, but I loved the middle- inspirational and guesswork free :)

You know I’ve never been one to break a poem down by its technical conquest or failures. I could care less about the devices used or language employed…all that matters to me is the feeling I get after reading it. And I must say…the feeling was powerful! Yes, powerful is how I would describe this poem. It’s was motivating, defiant, rebellious, and above all... triumphant! I felt a sense of belonging while reading this poem. I could so relate to a lot of what you had to say…and it didn’t hurt you were very creative in the way you said it. You’re a wizard with words, man. This poem was alive. It seemed to jump off the page and into my lap. It felt tangible, it was fluent, and it was raw. In a nutshell – I loved it. Always have been and always will be one of my favorite poets on the site. This is just another example of why. Keep doing your thing. Pz