I Barely Know How to Dress Myself

Tell me
What is it that you find in the tiny wardrobes of your existence?
Is it a silk robe sewn with time?
Or Dusty laces?
Faces covered in the pride of coal mines
Otherwise soon to becomes traces of the resistance?

Me, I pay no mind to bow ties tied round the necks of alcoholics
No cash money in their leather wallets
Pull yourself up by your own Rolex
I’m sorry I can’t help you
I would if I could
But I barely know how to dress myself

And I don’t dress up for death chants
So I show up to OCI wearing a pair of sweat pants
No internal time urgency
I leave the public interest behind me
Personally, I am interested in making 180 or maybe 190
Fuck it, why not 225?
I’ve benefited from privilege, now I’m at the top of the economy
Though I’ve spoken to those below me back at the colonies
I work within that dichotomy whereas
You disappear inside theory and can only regurgitate your favorite European philosophy

My autobiography will be in at least three languages
I am an Arabic grammar champion. I get paid to make sandwiches
I’m slinging syntax back with the emcees next to me
Complexity doesn’t bother me
But I barely know how to dress myself

I make a pretty good refrigerator poetry nonsense
And I can think in abstract concepts
I’m undefeated in Mortal Kombat
24/7 contact customer service expert
Just seeking to apply myself

I split infinitives wherever I please
And I make up adjectives
It’s a hyper-complexative hobby of mine, but I find it inadequate
To effectively demonstrate my skill
Cos at the end of the day I still
I still barely know how to dress myself
I thank god that at the very least I know how to pray for myself
1-800 numbers still stuffed into my pockets
I take a picture and I crop it
Passed away loved ones in my little locket attached to that necklace
I’m a limited-edition Nexus 6 prototype the way I've been instructed to wreck this shit
You’re intoxicated at breakfast
You drive away in a Lexus
Your sideview might be exactly what my U-lock might mess with
Motherfucker, I barely know how to dress myself

My cognitive capacity at an all-time high
Whereas every last neuron of yours has gone awry
Your creeks have all run dry. I’m swimming in the ocean
Not a modicum of regret in my body, except that the water is frozen
And I swallowed the wrong dosage
Way past metamorphosis. No performances
Not even an attempt at any resemblance of choruses
My hearing is fine
My vision, like an NSA satellite in orbit
I am still 64-bit
I just barely know how to dress myself

And in international airports, I observe convention
And the jet lag does not affect me
Because I make it a point to not malfunction
Though I barely know how to dress myself