Call it rap, call it poetry,
call it art, call it what
fucking seems
words are and what you want it to be.
What you are reading,
is not a nursery rhyme,
mean?
Capito, use your fingers and not your mouth. The pesto
hard on the keyboard,
to give free rein to my creativity, and
prove to myself that after all not a nullity.
Already you're right,
with art does not make a penny, but who is that asshole
that tells us that they are so stupid?
I have always studied,
but by the time I felt cheated, so I decided to work
and I have always worked. Then you
life requires choices to be made,
changed to prevent me from working exploit, but I was
used the same
used and thrown in the toilet.
Now I'm an unemployed,
more or less,
work nine hours per week, of course
always black.
And if you say you do not have regrets in life,
I do not believe you, beautiful, you do not charm me ...
now spend my days in front of the screen, sending
curriculum and composing poems to go along with my brain that thinks
continuously
projecting images of an uncertain future, because
actually
everything now has been compromised.
Francesco Favia
Tuesday, May 20, 2008 17:00
http://ciscofavia.blogspot.com/
www.nonsolocronache.com
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