The fault not in our stars

I have a problem,

I think I stare a lot,

Like Big pun saying “I’m not a player I just crush a lot”

Well…As for me “I’m not a psycho I just care a lot”

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See I like to think that people are who they really are, when they know no one is watching,

And the human mind is amazing,

Like a lost child, it never stops wandering.

So you really can’t blame me, for wanting to observe…

It’s like curiosity mixed with a tinge of ceaseless verbosity,

Social atrocities, obscene mentalities, perceived prosperity,

I’m basically writing down what I see; this is everything I know they feel,

Welcome to my covert knowledge reserve,

Believe me; unlike modern day democracy this is real.

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Speaking of real, I bet you nothing is,

The pressure is too much,

It’s a wonder we can even sleep with ease.

The pressure to conform is crazy,

It’s everywhere…

In church, in the bar, in school, even on the streets,

It’s the beautiful teenage girl doing everything to please.

Or the young boy who’s just out to tease.

They’re both just trying to fit in,

But it’s a desperately shallow world they live in,

Rolling in the deep, they’ve barley got their feet in.

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I’m making sense…no??

Just follow the Paper trail,

We’re making cents now, that’s all we know,

The system is a jail.

Look at the CEO in his Italian suit,

His life is all about financial pursuit, dinners in expensive suites,

Not to mention the occasional secretaries and the damning lawsuits.

All that money, the money is the motive,

Living life in one dimension,

Ask Picasso to draw it,

There’s no substance there,

He couldn’t even come up with a decent motif.

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Its official we can’t help it, we’re superficial,

“I’m only with him for the money” I had her say,

Damn girl! Talk about being super fiscal,

“..But dude she’s fine …drive by and leave”.

Don’t even get me started on being super physical.

Lord help us, our perception of love is flawed!

We taste the whiskey in each other’s mouths,

And feel the deceit in each other’s breaths,

The truth is sudden death,

Till we get what we want,

It’s not love any more,

“Caveat emptor”, Let the buyer be warned.

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Photoshop our scars and tears,

By the time we’re putting it on Instagram,

We’re so perfect, imperfection is in insincere.

Our cyber clones roam the internet,

Satisfying our every interest,

Sex, Fashion, Money, Fame…

Call it modern day hinder net.

Mr. Local celebrity,

#iPhone, #iPod, #iRock,

All that matters is what I have, #iTalk.

Slaves to technology,

These invisible chains are too hard to break #iStop!

Stop trying to fight these forces that are beyond my control

Hell!..Get used to it, the wind blows #iFlow

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We’re living in a world where bartenders hear more confessions than catholic priests,

And life is more meaningful, if you’re seen in certain streets,

The flawless masks we wear are glued tight to our faces,

Our society, is like a pack of cards made up of nothing but straight aces,

“Mirror mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?”

“Well I really can’t tell, you all look the same”

“Stupid Ass Mirror! we can’t all look the same?”

“You’re all trying to be who you’re not, it’s the same thing…don’t blame the mirror, it’s your game”

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A vicious game we’re playing at,

And if you think about it really, we’re masters of our own art,

But we’re painting over each other’s thoughts and feelings like animals with no hearts.

There’s so much space but there’s no room to breathe,

There’s so much fake, it could nearly kill.

And sadly…

Just not enough real.. to heal.

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So I’ll be walking down the streets,

Trying to think of soulful beats in that blasted heat.

Staring at people and forming perceptions,

Coz I know that whether we like it or not,

Our fears, our hopes, our dreams,

Are manifestations of our imperfections.

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Then I’ll catch a glimpse of the Street preacher,

And I’ll watch him as he prays,

With his hands in the air,

One eye closed as the other one watches who pays,

And I’ll hear him pray for the world to be a better place,

Then I’ll remember that scene in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar.

Where Cassius says to Brutus,

“Men at some time are masters of their fates.

Sometimes the fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,

The fault is in us”

And I’ll walk away calmly trying not to cause a fuss,

But I’m dying inside to just stand and shout

“you know what guys, SOMETIMES ..SOMETIMES THE FAULT IS IN US” !

Living on the edge Tim Kemple
Living on the edge Tim Kemple
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