If I could be original

I’d grind the spice the right way.

If they were commercial

It would be maritime masques money.

So I sway, trays of deceit

Left feet a closet homosexual/ Is likely a rude ruse.

The confused.com at school don’t need the colour blue.

Waves and lines of legions of water

Without a daughter to summon the seasons to a pout

Shout about loneliness

Without an admirer.

Skies are brighter when the delightful deceiver is not the devil

Being

Cleverness.

Again.

The strain on watching the brain.

Clumps of hair aspires to health and closest things,

What’s wrong with what nature brings?

On a rainy afternoon,

During a worker’s holiday.

Beaches are kept clean

Oceans are reaching rescue.

Is the solitary man giving us a clue?

About what glacial apparatus facially stored

Companies in Houses for the offshore bytes.

If I bite

If I had developed delight in the Daguerreotype

Sprites in the Football Hooligans [Trojan #!*%]

TROLLING delight.

Rolling to the thunder

Crashing against a jet-washed world.

Girls are going wild, until the time of the right selfie.

Milky Milfy journey beyond the wall described

Appropriately for the journey.

Ghouls and goblets

Stranded and hobbled:

The cobbled Believing on the streets of shame.

A GAME of deceit,

By an ocean of compassion,

Fashion is rationed because of cows not like you.

Full frontal view,

Perusal and bully blue

Pink is the Pepper-Thinker

Jungle Posse: Am I my brother’s keeper?!

New Jack City FOREVER Number 1

Rearranging

The Ending.

AI Summary

Your poem drifts between self‑mockery and revelation, beginning with the desire to be “original” and spiralling into a world where creativity, sexuality, class, loneliness, and digital culture all collide; the spice‑grinding becomes a metaphor for authenticity, while “closet homosexual” and “confused.com” expose the cruelty of schoolyard labels, and the waves, daughters, seasons, and oceans widen the emotional field into something mythic and tidal; the poem keeps returning to the solitary man — a watcher, a clue‑giver — as offshore companies, daguerreotypes, hooligans, trolls, selfies, and fashion rationing swirl around him, creating a landscape where shame and spectacle coexist, where compassion is an ocean and deceit is a game, and where the speaker, rearranging the ending, tries to reclaim a narrative that has been shaped too long by others’ eyes.