Everything is Everything

Everything is Everything, 

My hand possesses no wedding ring, 

And my mommas don't either, 

But she still sings.

In the kitchen on Sunday morning, 

When I come home she's not so alone and, 

Using my artistry to paint pictures of better days for her.


I am a walking painting, 

A traveling sunflower, 

Dwelling in the deepest darkest places, 

From dirt with no fertilizer, drops of water. 

I'm the first mark of the pen to the paper, 

The tick of the clock as it gets later, 

And you're not here.

What if I stop waiting up for you, 

would you still come home? 

Would you still pick up the phone? 

That never rings when I call.


Everything is everything, 

You know where I'm at when you out doing your thing, 

Throwing ass at niggas you never seen, 

But you always leave on my arm, with me.

Like having a museum just for you but you never go, 

Like wanting to see the world but you have it at home, 

Like getting a Ph.D. but it's still shit you don't know.



Everything is Everything 

p.p1 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Helvetica Neue'; color: #454545} p.p2 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Helvetica Neue'; color: #454545; min-height: 14.0px}

Even if you lie and tell me this is an exaggerated Nothing.

This poem is about: 


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741