Dear journal, today has been of stressful nature
It seems my capers turn up with less paper
My pockets are as shallow as the society around me
As for my attempts on music, well, I astound beats
At least every now and then, my flow gets sloppy
Do I really sound like a copy? Choppy? Floppy?
I'm not obsolete and out of date, I'm young blood
Still no bud, not yet a stud and staying away from mud
What other events transpired? My transcript in pyres
My grade needed to be raised higher, I'm tired
It's wearing me down, the pursuit for a 4.0
I'd rather shout Geronimo or be playing Mario
Which reminds me, when did I last play video games?
Has my youth been eaten away by my lust for fame?
And has that aim just been feeding all my insecurities?
Well if I'm geared to be this I better hear it be
Ironically my skin hasn't increased the mathematical
But grammatical has proven to be my sabbatical
My talent lies in these words, must maintain balance
Because the sciences have shown me a greater challenge
But history is conquered by this literary doctor
Yet the proctor lies fearing the oriental monster
My own home language which I yearn to be fluent
I need to buckle down, learn and just do it to it
Meanwhile in the land of comedy and tragedy
I wonder if my acting skills will get strangers to clap for me
Or if my writer's wit is transcribed to a script
With visions and voices if I'll be something worth to sift
Find me as a diamond on a beach of rhinestones
Pick up, dial tone, in a mine zone, ordinary pine cones
I guess in the end time will tell all, but I give
Dear journal, in the end can I live?
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