First world crime

So this word smith, is going to begin, with some inspirational shit that will then delve deep
Into a pit I don't recommend you dive too far in, it's not a part of your life you want to keep
So here's the positive bit. The first world problem that I call it, as in it isn't that bad
The white mans, ghetto  estate I can't afford to buy my kid the latest nike fad.

Because my husband likes  to gamble, on the horses, although he can if he wants to, in our life of win or lose
My kids are healthy,  and they don't  have to drink water out of a muddy well we had to dig, confused?
Your fucking too right you are. On every news break, in between arguments, about which tv programme you should record to live
Want to know who made a good recording? Ann Frank, in her diary, put that into perspective.

Where's the inspirational gasp of this drowning  man. ? The minute of amazing beauty
Well here it is, are you ready,
They're already a part of you, it may not be the soul you sleep next to every night
But they dance in your dreams, they inhabit and help to solve your internal fights.

The person that you call on the telephone when your partner is asleep
The one that you dream of, even When you're awake, they're the ones to keep
The life of one, the multitude, oh I forgot, it's time to get deep
Ok, are you ready?, this is going to be something you'll either remember or the words will seep.

Right. Our brains can only comprehend one issue at a time, anymore and the cells begin to implode
The next rhyming sentence should be obviously something to do with explode,
 however
It didn't, because, I control this, me, my internal dialogue, that I just set, on a life sentence plural
Life doesn't have to rhyme or be fucking poetic. It never, ever , makes sense, there's no such thing as a rhyme or normal.

Existence is a whirlwind. It's a blizzard that inebriates the snow globe of your brain
It's the fourth glass of wine,  when you think about the ex, you paint the perfect picture of a portrait that the driver in the limousine of the insane. He's ready to jump off,?at the next highway exit
Because there's no answer to this rhyme.

It was never ever meant to make perfect sense. I hope that's the signature of this wordsmith
And in a hundred years time l,I, get a wink at this, and if I don't, then the author can go and kiss my skin of pith.
So if you wonder what this poem is all about. I'm hanging to delve but I'm sorry to be all apologetic
It's time.
You know what time sister, brother, the eye lids have collapsed. This. The white mans first world crime.