Everybody’s got a tale they’re dyin’ to sell,

But my ego’s a jukebox screamin’, “Listen to me yell!”

I’m a poet in a pawnshop, sellin’ scars I never bled—

“Kid, live a little ‘fore you preach ‘bout the dead…”

Mama taught me rhythm in her kitchen-chair school,

Papa schooled me on the blues with his work-boot rules.

“Chase your neon, son, but keep your soles on the gravel—

Family’s your compass when your dreams unravel.”

Shoot for the stars— settle for Mars, stay low,

The next shipwreck’s got treasures you don’t yet know.

Some dreams turn to gold, some to rust in the rain—

True friends? Two fingers count ‘em… the rest’s just pain.

I scribbled anthems ‘fore I’d earned my first heartbreak,

Mama sighed, “Sugar, real hurt don’t rhyme with ‘ache’.”

Papa growled, “Respect’s a debt—you pay it twice,

Talk sweet to your sister… or sleep with the mice.”

“Life’s a dime-store novel—don’t skip to the end,

‘Fore you’ve loved, lost, and burned a bridge or ten…”

Shoot for the stars— orbit Mars, stay true,

The next crash-landin’s got a better view.

Some dreams sprout wings, some just drown in the crowd—

True friends? A thumb’s enough… the rest’s just loud.

Let me drift where the comet trails scar the night—

Stardust rebel with Earthling hindsight!

I’m the Martian with Midwest mud on my boots,

Croonin’ lullabies to Saturn’s rings… Aimless, but cute.

Shoot for the stars—let Mars keep its glow,

The sidewalk’s got stories that the cosmos don’t know…

“Mama’s right, Papa’s tough…

And the universe? It’s never enough.”