Sexy Autumn Leaves

I am poetry unrealized.
Maybe those words are a sly disguise
to make me sound awesome when you read,
so you will confuse me with the beauty of sexy autumn leaves
I observe when I soak the sun in with my melanin.

I am love lust and hate.
Vanity takes over so each woman that passes, I rate:
There's a seven, an eight, a nine but no ten.
That was my ex girlfriend: I'll never have one of those again
who inspired my soul and appreciated my mind.
But what can I say? We met at the wrong time.
I try to date but I’m not a bellhop.
My back will go out so for now I’ll stop
dealing with these going, insecure, possessive,
Jealous, dumb, BORING , lazy, crazy bitches.
The thoughts of my dick conflict with what I think I need
So now I’m a contradiction and I still gotta read for class.

I am a myriad of questions.
Is it the strongest will or the will of the strongest?
Is this lucky coincidence or are these blessings earned?
How do my earphones tangle every time I turn?
Why do niggas never learn?
Did Scott seriously just drink the last of my milk?
With suave mannerisms, I rise from the desk.
Gotta have my milk and cookies or I might stress.
Grab my wallet, phone and keys. Brush my teeth with Crest.
What’s-her-name might be outside. Don’t gotta look my best,
But I can’t risk bad breath even if I ain’t trying to hit it.
What? Let me be pessimistically optimistic.