An Ode to Inanimate Objects

I image that while I'm sleeping my pillow takes on the persona of a girl during uneventful sex...just laying there waiting patiently until I'm done. No wonder I tend to wake up some what embarrassed...

I looked down and seen my shoelaces trying to strangle themselves...they are now on suicide watch. My sneakers need them to hold it together...Vans have it so easy...

Doors are like the unfortunate puppy who gets kicked right when you get home after having been fired. They never have anything to do with the argument but they always seem to end up getting slammed...no wonder older hinges seem to scream from years of domestic abuse...smh...do better people...

clothes are like naked friends of mine who don't mind covering my bare body with their nudity...true friends if you ask me...except some of my shirts are a lil shy so I sometimes have to cover them up with a jacket...

I've never met a mirror secure enough to be itself when I'm around. I know that it's not always like that, but when ever I come around it always shows me what its thinks I wana see...come on buddy be yourself for once, show me what you look like when no ones around...

What does a condom tucked away in a virgins wallet and George Bush have in common? They sit around for a really long time doing nothing, and when you finally to reach for it, it’s old, dry, wrinkly, and doesn’t even work...

Chairs can’t say anything about having to smell ass all day, because they have their feet in the floors face 24/7...

Tears are like kamikaze whose sole mission is to moisturize the floor by any means necessary. Watch out for fingers and tissues you little hydrated terrorist...

The other day my alarm didn’t go off, I punished my irresponsible clock by setting it to the wrong time. I figured a day of trying to play pointless catch up should teach it a lesson. I came back to discover that it was on the right time. Come to find out the damn thing is faster than I thought...

I’ve decided to start washing all my clothes together. I feel as though King’s death was for nothing if I don’t allow my little black socks and black shirts to join in the wash with little white underwear and white undershirts. Don’t judged my shirt by the color of it’s fabric but by the content and detail of the characters in its logo...

Fog is like the penguin of the cloud family, all the characteristics of it’s brothers and sisters but just hasn’t yet figured out how to get off the ground. Keep your head up little buddy, we’ve got a black president, you can do anything you put your mind to...

Im not sure what the exact ingredients of love potion no. 9 is, but I’m almost certain that saxophone has to be one of them. I’ve never met a saxophone whose baby I wouldn’t have...

I feel bad for the wheel, It’s just chilling minding its own business, and everyone keeps tryna reinvent it, as if it doesn’t already work. My mother always told me if it ain’t broke don’t fix it…

Science has giving dirt a pretty bad reputation, I mean even Kobe has gotten passed the whole white girl in the hotel thing. But idk, post dark ages I’m not sure if dirt can ever fully make a come back...

Knuckles are like MC's, rapping lyrics of "let me in" to you through the door. Hoping that the knock of their bass will inspire your hands to welcome them with a knobs twist...

Everything has a heartbeat...just listen for the pulse, signing off
till next time
stay random

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