The Philanthropist


He speaks philanthropy as if it comes naturally

His soothing voice helps me keep my sanity

The world we live in he makes a fantasy

getting through life day in day out happily


I tell him,

when I fuck up please don’t get mad at me

I know sometimes I act kind of callously

These things happen absently

but I promise not passively

I don’t know how he does it

always thinking so actively


I can’t help but admire how he does it so casually,

sits back in his chair smoking that blasphemy

that opens a door to a whole new galaxy

Bigger in his head than that of the one you read

He tells me, “imagination isn’t dead.”

but mine feels a bit heavier, more like lead

Only sees the colors blue, white, and red

so he teaches me to mix them


pink and purple instead