Slow Sure

It’s important to do the things that give your life purpose.
The rest should take second place importance.
Jack does just that in this poem as he explains why he’s not rapping, yet.

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Willing to spit
But saliva ain’t worth shit
Still alive, I won’t stand, sit
Wasted time get a man hit
Rep Demi, sitting back
Let me crate those thoughts
For the war gods
The pen, a whore
There’s no note not written for
Except of course
One’s behind locked doors
But set a course using force
Upset the order
Rewrite the border
Word hoarder
Obsessed with disordered
Detested ‘cause I murder words
No regrets
Yes, that’s what you heard

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I'm Not Rapper

Rap

Lyrics by Jack Thomas

The world is in a perpetual state of chaos.
Let it get to you and get nothing done.
Learn to accept the universe is uncontrollable
And it’ll be under you’re control

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Hopeless, smoked chest, cough, toke, rest

Broke bloke, vest, glock, coke, meth

Dope bag, hot block, do-rag, crack rocks, hot spot, clock in, crackhead smack talk
Bake in the sun, sirens, scared of bacon chasing gun violence
Gotta run, hide things, no more fun, five years isn’t worth a try, fear, let it keep driving

Steer, the blazing bush speaks ideas, smoke and mirrors, head kushined in clouds, reeks, the voice bleak, speaks loud, clear,
“Make your move now or lose out. No boohoos allowed. No tears.
Stand out. Choose what goes down. Don’t be held bound, be hell-bound.”
Clip in the hand, ticking trigger finger, mad, at the nigger killer, sad, and little bitter

But the pigment, though a figment, like a brand creates fictions in the minds of indignants. Like a clan they’re persistent

Back around, ready, seeing red, eyes steady
Thought tough, slipped up, tripped, shit bluff
Not quick enough, not slick, fucked up, tough luck
In a daze trapped in a haze, crazed laughs, let it phase to the brain
Blast him away
Regret settling before meddling, ring the bell to raise the devil, win in a fit of rage, strange compelling crave to misbehave
The end is just a blink away, need to hide and…

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Hiding Time

Self-reflective, Jack discusses his fears and motivations for being creative. Leaving a mark.

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I wear a mask to go hard
And I take the lie pretty far
Fake like I’m born with these scars
I don’t bruise, I’m from mars
Way high up in the stars
With red eyes locked like darts
Just ’cause I’m smarter when I gab
That’s why I overstand to rap and spit
Can barely stand hands frosty grip
Around my throat
The grip won’t slip
Hope I don’t choke
I’m rolling throwing blame at frozen shame
Stone cells, prison brain
Shattered the glass house
The crash was mad loud
I’m assed out
No second chance will pass down
Claim sober to be left alone
It’s over
Getting closer for…

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Blind Allegiance

Jack updates us on his current political standing.

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The long line grows. Followers chosen by God herself. To enslave the children. To fight the dark forces. Hostages for a better world. When white robed phantoms spread their word from beyond the grave.
And they begin. “Where is my…” with air quotes, “Money?”

Revive the fallen. Destroying and eradicating the dark forces. Blue suited shiny badges of honor with guns pressed against the backs of the perceived enemy. A strike by the rebellion unable to regain the dwindled numbers of the “home team” reaching to even the odds by reducing the “away.”

Shackles and iron bars for the shades not aligned with the morally gray stars on the flag. Red bloods of white skin on the blue ball owned by green presidents.

Trumpets play as the blue birds chirp overhead. The distraction for those chewing gum silent masturbating to gun violence.

Oh dear, how the toppling towers teeter. No use crying over spilled oil. The dividers keep the…

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Cardboard Boxes

Loud voices. How annoying.

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No one escapes the box
No holes, can’t breath
No sunlight to see
No hope, can’t leave
In the dark the mind plays games
Demons and shadows, no faces, no names
They dance and battle
Confrontational, no shame
From inside the cement box
The cement blocks the outside’s clocks
Tossing glass inside stone houses
Sharp shards prance
All the small pieces
Individually, no meaning
Prisoners, no feeling
Illusions of identity
Profound how having ears to the ground sound loud
Shouts drown down
Nothings on the other side
Beg to die
But this prison named hell has other plans aside
There’ll never be goodbye
Stuck here beyond death
Fucked clear to regret

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Desperate Thinking

Many of the major struggles we deal with as adults are internal. And they surround the perpetual identity crisis the “adult experience” turns out to be. Some of our worst demons reveal themselves to be a major part of our identity.

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In the back of my mind the grind stays in line
Shows up on time
Thick sludge slime drips off ass it goes by
Slow drive
No life, it chases faceless cries
Whines stalking hated ties through crooked lies
It takes or it dries
Created illusions for desperate tries
Feeling asleep still hoping to die
Never real, but always alive
Never bad, but always a crime
Chiming the rhymes of evil
Slides off the tongue perceiving
Fires burn the homes
Screeching iron melting down
Reaching into hollow grounds
Spinning, churning, twisting round
Molten lava leaking out
The creaking shack is splintered, brown
No sneaking in without a sound
The bleak still ring it sings resound
Trapped inside with screams and shouts
Rotted corpses stand about
Mules and horses on propaganda routs
Burnt alive behind the eyes
To all the rest I stand here fine

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Writing by Hand

There is mystery behind not knowing what words come next when hand writing. More difficult to come by when typing. The slow paced nature of writing by hand leaves mystery to uncover, even for the writer.

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There’s a pleasant seduction behind the ink of a pen. Something about not knowing how long until “the surprise” or “the point” lands on the page is alluring. Even knowing where the work will go isn’t enough. The casually paced process is designed to gradually expose.

An arousing lust, flirty and curious for the next words, drives the ideas forward. As if it smiles back tempting possibilities and teasing wants. A sexy little dance, while motionless, wiggles in the back of one’s mind as a playful draw for more proceeds.

Biting a lip, dragging the pen across the page with delicate hands to guide purpose with care. Ever-so-gentle and crafted a letter at a time, the love filled spiral of intrigued pries. Digging up the fertile soil in search of seeds. Fascinated by the limitless capacity of imagination.

Turned on by the reckless direction, starved and animalistic.

A raw, dangerous and unpredictable monster dressed in ink is the hand written narrative.

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Faded Patterns

It’s hard to deal with change. But it’s hard to deal with change only because we believe it’s hard to deal with change. Change is impossible..

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Troubled by freedom. The thought of it.

The cage opens and the creature, too scared to leave, quivers at the door.

Long within the bar box. The concept of walking the grass is nauseating.

Overwhelming to not know the other side of the hill.

Perhaps a storm lives there.

Although no phobia for water, there is fear of getting wet.

Never once does it occur to raise the half empty glass to the crying sky.

One of the paintings is crooked and I can’t stop looking.

Jekyll in the lab, but hide when there’s no distraction.

Rhythm was the meditation.

Songs no longer play with open eyes.

Abandoning systems to rise above.

The realization, that which was left was but a fraction of the picture.

Safe outside the cage. Just a bigger box out there.

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And Then Some

Fight through. What’s on the other side is worth the isolation, focus and hard work.
You have to live for your own goals.

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Tic, tick, toc, tock
The gray, oh how grey it is
Peaking while peeking
Was told what the toll was
Armed up I’ve got them with their arms up
Cuz, you’re your cause ‘cause you the jerk always jerking off
Duck the low flying duck
Get blown by some bitch seeking blow
One with a red bow in her hair, she bowed arrow in hand bow in the other
Bearer of hearts barer apart than together
Plan a route to the root of the problem
But banned the band from coming
Weigh what matters and take the rest out of the way
Wonder why’d the wide issue fade

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Hypothesis

Most of our reason go unconsidered. We don’t stop to question ‘why?’ We come up with an answer and roll with it. When the only true answer can be discovered through search, not manufactured.

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For a second in space time, wrapping my spaced mind around disgraced slime
Faced with stress I hide my face, lies, and chase distracting mistakes, stand idle in place
Might faint, fried, just to cry under my face
The sound is too loud to shout it out of the crowd so drown it down
Won’t wait a few seconds after pulling the pin to toss the damn thing
Take cover and hope my ears don’t ring

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Mara's Book

As humans we hide. We avoid facing our problems and pretend everything ceased existing.
Buried in our vices.
A poem

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Shady tree
Knees pulled up
Book in hand
Quiet
External static
The adventures of a manic hero
Buried in the pages for ages
Battling mages and dragons
Stopping havoc from passing
Adored by all as it is
But the portal back home
It’s closing
Been dozing for way too long
The demons from the frozen homeland
Where evil roams much to often
If the gate shuts and there’s no luck
It’d be easy to get stuck
Fine and dandy
To get away from the madness
No one will miss me

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The Designer

The mind of a creator is a place where magic and tragedies are one and the same.
Whatever happens happens when they take their work seriously.
And the one’s that don’t get left behind.

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Much on the plate to eat. This and that. The want to eat it all while faced with the impossibility. Could take a bite of each thing just to get a taste, but not one thing would get finished.

Building glass towers…

Running out. The bomb is ticking and there is not time to sit and think of how to stop it. It’s time to act and make a move. To feel like something was attempted. So that if the bomb goes off it feels like at least the best was tried tried. In case one thing doesn’t defuse the it, it should all be considered. Lives are at risk and being helpless is not an option.

Sculpting away at the block…

This doesn’t belong here. Being capable of correcting this error makes it a duty. The weight of when it’s right or wrong to make a move is overwhelming. What if it’s the wrong call? What if the decisions have the capacity to…

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In Bed With Arthur

Arthur, after having liberated the evil from the corrupt family, was once again caught by the corrupt police and returned to his prison. The cage where they accuse him of insanity. He knows the bad guys don’t win. And he’s the hero of the story, so he will not lose.

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Eyes open, I’m in bed
Six years, been like I’m dead
Tech sticking from my head
Strapped, chain down
Dark room, no sound
Mind rush, go round
Fear, possessed now
No exit near while held down
Tears, the scream bounce around
Leering gaze from the shadows of the room
A crooked grin, hazy, sharp teeth, it’s hungry too
An abomination, with no hesitation it…

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To Win The Fight

Martial arts. The performance of the brutes. A poem of fighting based on fighter.

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A fluid dance. The impact of precision. Movements morph from one to the other unforgiving, uninterrupted. Sequenced by desire and sought out by need. Survival in the form of elegance. Delicate and subtle shifts settle fractional inch debts with force. Bruised souls crumble when missed tipped toed landing heels out standing sore. Beautiful the twirl. The skirt. The umbrella. The dip, the hop. Shields to stop reception. Only the hurt happens without intention.

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Poker Crown in School

Life is filled with ups and downs. Having the bravery and confidence to face all those moments equally will result in a fruitful future filled with learning and accomplishments.
Jack gives his thoughts in this poem.

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Patience is being tested
Straight aces on the table
Royal flush out of multiple choices
Pure crowned blood
Feeling able to take all the chips
4.0 mil stashed in the castle
Freshly dipped and gold plated
Playing the game is not a hassle
Cards in my hands
No class clown telling jokes to jesters now
Passing grade A performance
The brightest of Knights
Strokes of the lance questioned
Ready to fight once mentioned
Giving my…

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Why?

Feeling closed inside but unable to stop the strive.
This lyrical poem shows Jack’s fight and what he might do given the try.

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Do I feel weak?

Is it I refuse to speak of how my thoughts are bleak
Shriek inside, seek relief, heart dry dead mounted on a cross, I’m so fucking lost
But I refuse to think ‘cause I’ll sink into a slump and shrink
Lumps stuck in my throat, I’ll begin to choke, start feeling cold
Reckless and out of control but I won’t let go ‘cause there’s no telling where this car’ll go
It’s nowhere any of us would want to know
Obsessed with little regrets, don’t believe in hope
Lie to myself, “I’m the best,” “Not a mess,” “I can do this, though.”
Infest my mind with screaming voices testing me
Deafening noises
Definite poison
Stay poised when the moment is pointing three fingers back as I fade to black
In the middle of a heart attack that…

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Inner Demons

With a crumbling country we face the biggest Social-Political divide since the civil war.
This Lyrical Poem tells Jack’s take and much more.

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There’s something innocent in thought
Theories of what’s not caught in the web
Vanish to the back
Knotted after tied in the hot headed
Hard to not get in bed
Wedded to the beliefs of the dead when its fed daily
But instead what we mean seems to flee us
Jesus died for no reason, see us
Beating, mistreating each other even when we don’t mean to
We can’t help, we’re helpless and selfish
Hope for better version of ourselves to shuffle through
So we stop hurting each other to do the things we want to do
But it’s senseless, we can’t stop even if we wanted
It’s who we are, it’s who we’ve been, it’s who we’ll be
The monsters we don’t acknowledge
Degrees wasted from college
Knowledge lost at every turn, at all costs
Lodged in our souls the demons we hope don’t grow
Ignoring them, we don’t know
They’re slowly taking control
Blinding our sight, ruining our lives
Driving the ride down the hill with the lights off
While we’re hopped on pills denying its part of us
Fighting to destroy the world we’re tried to build
Darkness we’ve tried to conceal reveals itself to have always been real as hell
A president that won’t chill but stays cold
Bold messenger birds deliver blue messages which hurt the innocent youth, the immigrant too
We don’t know what to do
Media buries the truth and we just believe what they want us to
Pin us against one another because we don’t bother to fact check each other
We’re monsters just like our four fathers

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Voiceless Virtual Rage

As the internet continues to behave as the trashcan where we throw our opinions our collapse becomes more obvious from a distance.

Jack vents in this angered piece.
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Many of us exist in a perpetual denial of our own design. Screaming at each other, it’s unclear if its for change or to disperse the pint up energy. Casting blame in every direction of what we feel most guilty of. Unable to control these impulses.

And we continue, and continue, and continue, and nothing ever changes.

The ever increasing rage of society which began with the children which felt neglected and voiceless, like a plague contagion spread to the adults and the elderly.
But it’s never real. Our virtual personas are the monsters. In person, we’re too coward to make the same stands, but behind the safety of our electronics we find it justified to diminish the life of another. Because they aren’t real. Because we’ve never met them.
Enlightened or not. With reason or not. We believe we are justified in a pursuit. The world must know what we know, and believe what we believe the way we believe it. Because we believe it.

We’re unable to stop. It’s who we’ve become. The pause button was lost when we gave up on developing our voices in person and now even the elderly behave like children, simply trying to disperse this brokenness we’ve been handed.

There’s no fix in sight and the rain clouds will make it over the hills soon. They’re coming our way. We’ve never seen an umbrella so there is no protection. We’re stuck screaming.

It’s what we do. We point fingers here, and…

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The Great Subtraction

Kids in cages.
A Poem.

45 is smaller than 0.

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I’m going to flip the shit if they crack another motherfucking whip
Can’t handle it when I can’t spit
Rambling blazed for days
Holding a fucking clip
Shit stays the same way
It’s making me sick
Staring down barrels drunk
Like we’re outta luck
In stasis sterile faces that won’t quit
Cages mistake small kids
Taken away
They can’t be seen
It seems history repeats it’s scenes
Screams don’t stop the suit’s schemes
We should be ashamed
Turn the cheek and sneak away
Cell phone in hand
Selfies behind screens
Eyes on ‘em like laser beams
Hit record on that cam
Life the video game
It’s our mask while we hide in the dark
We’re Batman
All going insane
Yelling the same phrases night and day
No response
It’s like that
No one listens and things don’t change
Deranged, we keep playing the same way
Won’t fight back
Maybe someone brave will stand and save the day
But every time we call the hero someone ends up shot
It’ll happen until we’re down to zero
The Great Subtraction in action
This extinction event is meant so we can’t repent
When the end comes through
The end meant for those that won’t do
What they want us to do
The way they want us to
That’s just for me and you

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