Poetry

ATLANTA SOLDIER

My writing has improved so much
I write in such a way. In a way so such
I don’t drink Crush, I just go for the Fanta
Last night I drove to Atlanta
For a poetry slam at a bar few attend
I came with no friends and left with a couple
My poems were subtle, my words were direct
I recited a hidden poem titled, A Jumbled Mess
It brought the house down indeed, the whole crowd was wildin’
I began the reading with a scowl and ended straight smiling
I was like, do I deserve to be happy, I haven’t felt joy in so long
I was gonna leave after I read mine but instead my stay I prolonged
I fucked with a few poems read, I’m usually just a fan of my own
I exchanged numbers with some, I said, I have to go home

Someone texted me this morning and said, Can you call me?
And re-read that poem?

I almost cried

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Journal

A Cool Morning

Wow. What a morning.
I think I’m about to go watch a movie on Netflix.
Here’s the thing about Netflix. I feel like I spend more time looking for something good to watch than I do actually watching something good.

Can anyone else relate to this? I’m sure many others do. I’m so relatable. Also super datable.

I also feel like I’ve watched everything worth watching on Netflix. Hmm. What should I do now? Look for a new job maybe? Write some more.

I’m always writing lol. Hey, that’s what I do, I write. Thereby, I am a writer.

Hmm there go my job title. Pretty cool, huh?

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Poetry

Witness More

I’m still awake
I feel like I should bake a cake
Or make a rake
From scratch. How would one go about that?
You’re the one
I’d split my last Kit-Kat with
I used to shoot dice in the alley with the Big Mac kids
And I was there when they shot Lil Twig
Luckily he survived the shot
I should be on a TV show talking about how I survived a lot
I give it all I got, but come on! That’s an understatement
I still can’t believe it! I’m a guy in a basement
I know I’m not the first blogger
But this is one hell of a creation
When I was 13 I stabbed a guy in the tri-basin
Luckily he made it or I’d be in jail for murder
Tried as a juvenile but still, you never know
Two weeks later that same guy got shot in the toe

Lol crazy world

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Poetry

Morning Flow

I’m eating Cheerios, hoe
I’m in a cheery ol’ mood

I think I’m THAT dude

The party and the heart of it

Smashing thru an artifice

I fought so many niggas
I can write a book
called The Art of Fists

My craft is nice, my art is hip

Kill a mothafucker in a poem
And title it
The Art of Bitch

Then they’ll label me a heartless kid

You’re damn right I’m the type
To start some shit

Why the hell not?

In a way I’m like a bird
Because I’m shitting from up top

Plop!

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