dirt.

Hamlet knew and so did Jesus

that at the end of all these earthly diseases

the royals and rebels will mix together

dirt.

our time is finite

and i guess that’s alright

as long as it isn’t wasted

since every moment must be treated as sacred

then why, i must ask,

should i ever sit back

and be defined by someone's laminated list

of how i should exist

well, i would never

my favorite shoes are Birkenstocks

my ears like Kanye West

some call me a hippy

yet, i still digress

Bob Dylan is not my jam

and i think world peace is a scam

(just too many people still thinking time is infinite

dollars falling from their skies

they’re in the thick of it

and just as hedonist turns philanthropist

dirt.)

i was asked in an interview to describe myself

i said happy, creative, and something else

then, apologized for being cliché

until she began to say,

“happy? never heard that one before.”

happy i was

and happy i am

to be on this planet

with a future in my hands

but there’s a secret you know

to being happy:

listen to your music

wear your favorite shoes

and when the list tells you otherwise

say, SCREW THE RULES

before you, too

become

dirt.