Love makes the world go round

It is easy to slam about trivial things, isn’t it,

To give wings to little ditties about the girl you fucked and the titties you sucked

And the life you lucked upon and oh! How you could have sworn you connected with heaven the moment you came. Yes, people will listen to that, and cackle with their heads thrown back, able to connect to you through the most tenuous of all links, through sexuality. Well done. High five. No seriously, well done for striving to make this world a better place when you’ve actually got 50 faces staring at you and all you can do is entertain them with the bodies you’ve lain with, the times you came and how her body makes you insane.

Then again, you’re nearly outdone by the angsty, angry poets, those sons and daughters mortified by the truth of life and feel the need to pass this ugly side onto the rest of everyone, blocking out the sun and seeing only shade, their hope and beauty faded away giving way to cynicism, and unrelenting decay of the only reason we all woke up today.

You see, underneath all this crap we espouse, of those poems that tickle, of those poems that shout, there’s a reason we’re here and we write for hours, to carry out some sort of destiny of ours, to use our powers for good not evil, to give up this medieval race towards hate and fall back on the innate knowledge of fate, that we’re meant to be here, we know where we’re going, and each poem is a positive seed that we’re sowing, to spread love at each slam, and I don’t give a damn how gay that sounds, because man love makes the world go round.