I can’t rhyme off the top of my head
but I let the words spill from my mind
like locks pouring off dreads.
I’ve been writing these poems for years
or maybe they’ve been writing me…
that’s how words play with me
and we’ve been playing since we were kids.
Forget Barbie dolls, easybake, nintendo, tonka.
My allies were mad, magic, willy wonka,
my heroes were mad, magic, Dumbledore,
twice through the wardrobe, magic doors.
Now I don’t read like I used to.
I spend all my time writing
and all my writing I spend insighting.
Not raising riots
but raising hopes, self help.
Searching for my third world health
so I can give it aid, commonwealth.
I still feel growing pains
lookin to move potential to kinetic gain.
Thinking hard up against a red brick wall
soaking in sun and silence.
The drip drop of last night’s rain
a sparse snare drum tick-tocking in my brain
my lyrics ever the same
thus my music is my shame.
And what is shame
but my refusal to admit myself
into the VIP room
even though I own the club.
But, I’ve been scared
dreaming phallic symbols and fear.
So I cut my hair
because I dreaded my identity.
I went bald to get the strain off
like stress was in my follicles.
Forced to live one step at a time, every day-ing.
My mother says just keep praying
but belief is a task that’s thankless.
I wanted recognition so I gave up, faithless.
I left life, but life was after me
and if you knew how life loved me
you’d be envious.
Because of love i live now,
I give it all
the skin, the content
even the core
then give some more
with burning passion.
But still, I play it cool, yes
I remain calm like The Roots.
I’m taking off
fitted wings on my boots
looking for golden pastures, silver fruits.
I play flutes
and sometimes they swallow
my seed, like bird feed
from this poet’s tree.
Only, they didn’t know it was me
call it androgyny,
because suddenly, everyone wants me.
Little dicks, big dicks
I’ve met many Richards in my time
and they ask me to give it up.
I could but I’m mising
since my spirit started rising.
I give verse my all plus ten percent, tithing
laughing at the bank, plus to and fro
as I’m depositing reams of lyrical.
I don’t go to church but I’m spiritual
that’s why the tellers spread my gospel
into every savings account.
Freedom doesn’t come at a discount
because it should be free,
there’s no interest rate on simply being
that’s something I couldn’t see.
It took a beating to make me, see
this poetry slammed me up against the wall
and took my lunch money,
bullied me into these rhymes.
So, I had to compete, verses versus verses.
It left me so broke
I had to count my blessings
since I was out of curses.
I don’t make money from verses
but refuse to work for purses.
Yes, because I’m lazy
and maybe cuz I’m blazing
but mostly cuz I’m writing
freak rhymes like Jekyll
even mister Hyde is hiding.
Taming words is kinda tricky
now I’m monster just like nicki
can’t let go the mic is sticky
flow so sick, it’s icky
viral, flu season.
Kids, go see the pediatrician
better yet, the mortician
since I’m killing competition.
Yeah, I talk big game
hit the ground running
meanwhile I’m punning
performing cuz I can’t not
recover fast if I fumble
both the vessel and the content.
If poetry is the superhero
I’m the sidekick,
delivering punch lines and all the right hooks.
So, study me like a book
to learn how one ending
is just another start.
Now I’m elevated,
Left my friends in awe
and all my enemies devastated.
I may be competing
but this is more than a contest.
Everything, it must belong somewhere
finally, I’m in context…