Intimidation vs. Peer Pressure (Discussion)


A lady told me that her son was going through something in school. It was made apparent that her son was “sweet” on a young girl in his class. And she was “sweet” on him, too!

Well, other young boys, in the class, knew that her son was fond of the young girl as well. Their mission: to turn the young girl against the boy with good grades. “He ain’t all that!,” was what had flowed in the class. The young boy wanted to fit in.

He comes home one day and exclaimed, “I don’t like her anymore!” It didn’t seem like she spent too much time in getting him to explain the sudden change. But yet, she knew of the boys intention to pretty much disown him because of his prestine reputation in the class. She shrugged it off.

So then, I said, “That’s intimidation.” No, it’s not!,” she said. Intimidation is when somebody has an ultimatum to fulfill. He didn’t feel as though he had to do anything.”

I said, “You’re wrong. So wrong. And I don’t even have kids.”

See Me


I hear voices

But no one’s home

All these choices

Yet still, I’m all alone

 

Tell Me

Am I bothering You?

I can still see

Why You can’t tell the truth

 

Do You want me to go

Or let You shout it out?

Feeling so low

Why should I do without?

 

Can’t You touch me

Like You used to?

Still Your Baby

Looking to be Your shoe

Will You ever whisper

Sweet things like You used to?

Whisper Baby, Whisper

In this room built for two

 

I know You don’t know it

But, I was leaving anyway

Couldn’t make it fit

So I convinced myself to stay

 

Now, I see You got something on Your mind

No need to fight with yourself

You’re about to run out of precious time

‘Cause I’m about to start seeing somebody else

 

See Me

Always

See Me

Feel Me

Always

See Me

Sunday Morning Blues in a Hat


She changed everything

About her self

For a man that was

Beneath her

 

Eclectic this

Once Bohemian that

Who could believe her newfound bliss

(Underneath) And her Sunday morning hat

 

What a life she has made

That is not her own

Now always seeking shade

Away from the heart and soul she grown

 

But Sunday morning

Only comes once a week

Six other days worth of scorning

From a carefully twisted tongue that won’t let her speak

 

Look at her Sunday morning blues

 

If she wanted to cabaret

All day, twirl and play

Finding the will to say

Is too much, so she chooses to pray for a better day and stay

 

She wears her Sunday morning hat

So the sky doesn’t see her look up

Unable to clean her feet on her own welcome mat

Horoscope reads like an upside down fortune cup

 

Everyday, she says hello to her Sunday morning blues

Looking for clues

Hiding from the Who Whos

Before they recognize a new bruise

 

Such a pretty Sunday morning blue hat