huh...

i am an artist not a metronome
i have feelings, im not a syndrome
i do not write what you want me to
i write what i feel, i do what i do
i dont care if its not what you like
who care if it give you a fright
its honest, unfiltered emotion
its raw sprinkled with pain
you think im crazy maybe
but i know im insaine
that and my insomnia is what keeps me awake
thoughts of the past
weather its real or fake
it is like this thing thing
some times its rhymes matches up
but sometimes it dont
it is without form
without shapes
it just hangs out
like my granmothers 1970's sun faded drapes
it appears ugly and warn out
most, prolly want it thrown out
but as john said let it be
it is there for a reason
most will debate it
few will appriciate it
many will show pitty
only the deformed will think its pretty
and thats how it was ment to be
united without unity
the protesters dont assemble
but when they gather they resemble
a common thought
a common goal
a pursuit of what a man once stole
or locked away
or smeared
kinda like a man with a beard
only the refined likes the aquired taste
because its not pretty
but takes someone to peer through
not to judge
but to take it as what it is
and maybe see
that it is a diamond in the ruff
for those, are the only ones with keeping
because anyone can buy a dimond
but only the discovered has ties
all this is
is once an idea
with random tangents
strung together with words
to attemot to prove apoint
you dont know my life
but through over anlyzing this
you could get to know it a little better