How’s December going for ya? Tired every day yet? Do the words “Christmas shopping” pass your lips more than twice in a conversation?

I pity you.

It blows my mind how ravenous people become during the holiday season. Watching the Black Friday sales videos of people in America running over people like they’re just fabric and screams, past that, unimportant. Hate it. From the last day of November to Christmas Eve people turn into shells of themselves. You can ask them personal questions directly to their face and they won’t be able to pull their brain away from the frantic mindset of what they’re currently caught up in long enough to give you an answer that’s more than half a word. People tossing twenties like candy into the Salvation Army giant glass orbs of “we mostly hate the LGBTQ community”. While working at a shoe store in the mall one year during the holiday rush, I witnessed a girl almost dislocate a fellow customers arm over a pair of Ugg boots. In turn, I remove myself from about as many “holiday-based” activities as possible, other than being with my family. I don’t go to the mall. I try to make as many gifts by my own hand as I can. In preferring to do everything the old-fashioned way, I have come across more than my fair share of unique individuals. You gain so much more from listening than you do from speaking, and if you give those somewhat “odd” characters a chance, 90% of the time they end up be actually “stuff you in a mattress crazy”, BUT THE OTHER 10%! Wooooo-wheee.

And because of that I wrote this.

And now I’m staring at my monstrous compendium,
People that I barely know,
Asking “Should I be unfriending them”?
‘Cause as if being flooded on the daily,
By people yelling “what’s free?”,
Wasn’t enough to get me irate, see,
I have to see assholes date good girls,
Not-even teenagers having babies.
Six thousand ads based on what I said when I was I alone,
Because nowadays you have your friends if you have your phone,
Never again do you gotta be alone,
As long as Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook have a different tone.
You agree with such conviction, but continue your additions?
Shit. You must be living in some rose-coloured visions.
I was angry at the state of this shit when I FOURTEEN,
Kid from a school I was visiting called another a nigger and I knuckle-wiped his mouth clean.

Maybe one of us wasn’t raised right.
But I just saw red in my eyesight.
When did “fellow man” go back,
To who was white, asian, or black,
Like a Crayola art pack, equally as third grade as that?

Happened about two years later.
Almost came with being a young white skater.
Riding home late one night from the park, baby blue hoodie must’ve stood out in the dark.
Three native kids, “We just wanna talk”, pretty sure you know the next part.
The worst part was the whiskey-breathed racial slurs,
Things that hadn’t ever graced my little virgin’, churchin’ ears.
Bruises from skating, and other well crafted lies,
Definitely wasn’t grabbed by a couple guys,
One didn’t sucker me and sit on my thighs.
Didn’t take my wallet for the insides.
Said I was trespassing, this was their land,
I shouldn’t fuck with the boys in the Band,
At the top of his lungs, “DO YOU KNOW WHO WE AM?!”.
Then a light from car rolling by caught ’em,
I pushed one off and fought him,
Cracked his temple with my board like Babe Ruth in the bottom.
Ran so hard I thought the oxygen in my lungs had been forgotten.
Sat in my room in the basement contemplating the event,
They’d never even met me, what the fuck could that have mean’t?
To call someone out for breathing on dirt that you wanna call your own,
And you expect get a loan, raise a family, buy a home?
When you’re welfare cheque is gone before the weekend?
When a meth pipe ends up being your best friend?

Maybe one of us wasn’t raised right,
Plastered at 16, you weren’t airtight.
I tempered myself like Conan’s steel,
Worked for every meal, couldn’t ever steal,
Only one of us belongs on Earth’s Highlight Reel!

Twenty one, long hair, snake-like vibin’,
Alcoholic living sure ain’t survivin’.
Tattoo’d my shoulder, devoted my life to cancer,
As if whiskey and darts could give me the answer,
What if I was supposed to grow be a dancer,
Practice the dark arts like a necromancer,
Hit high notes like Alicia Keys,
Bag a hundred dudes with double d’s,
I ain’t really sure if I’m actually hear to please,
‘Cause I catch stinkeyes gettin’ groceries.
So every once in a while I let my intellect flow,
1 in 10 be keepin’ up like they be drivin’ in snow,
I live life in 6th gear because you’re gone once you go,
So fuck “settling” for second, if you can get with the pro.
But then one morning when it was still black,
“Your dad’s in the hospital. He had heart attack.”
Some son I was being.
It had probably been a month since I’d even seen him.
And even though his father hadn’t been a shining-glory,
My dad always smiles when telling his story.

Maybe one of us wasn’t raised right,
He helped grow up with no stagefright.
Taught me the consequence of a lie,
Burn’t soup, and held me when I cried.
All the things his dad didn’t do before he died.

And now I’m almost past quarter century older.
My hearts cold, but I’m hoping it’s just a place holder.
‘Cause if luck is always sure to change, I wish change would be just a tad bolder.
There are no limits to our species if we could just stand shoulder to shoulder.
Technology obsolete every six months like it’s the best that we can do,
You’ve had your new phone for one week and it looks like you answer with a shoe.
Dressers killing babies, due to shit-quality materials,
Shinking boxing forward on all of the cereals,
Whilst the prices rocket skyward with no intent of stopping,
And you have no intention of ceasing “thifty” shopping.
And the ivory tower watches, the swelling in their banks,
More to spend on guns, bullets, bombs, and tanks,
To use upon the people when the reaper finally beckons “WAR”,
The rich will learn back further, and watch the profits soar.

Maybe one of us wasn’t raised right.
They live their lives in greed.
Because someone planted the seed,
That they could live off “need” and “heed”,
And the unshakable truth that rest of us have to bleed.

Just to make it through the day sometimes.

Maybe one of us wasn’t raised right,
This time between you and I.
Because when I say everyone, I mean us.
Every untrustworthy person on a bus,
Who says nothing to protect the trust,
That if I send my kids on that bitch, someone would protect them.

And that’s pretty much what it comes down to.
No one wants to really see any friends through.
The story ain’t important if it ain’t about you,
Everyone’s as transparent as a glass room.

So I’m asking specifically,
Is there any way scientifically,
We could all have a global epiphany,
That we are all equal, except for that Cheeto, b.



You can find Bear smoking bong and building snowmen on instagram.

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