Poetry

The Observer Who Comments

I was raised on the streets
I had not a thing to eat except
A breath of air, and not even fresh
In school I took tests, pure memorization
No practicality, hops
Banality rocks
In a world that dreads boredom
We ensured its antithesis
In the highest office
This is my rocker, I’m off this
Some people are born with no towel to toss in
Woe is they, I am repping for they
Kuz some people have too many problems
To blog about them all day

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Poetry

Power Shower

I rhyme to beats like street commander
Rocking rhythms like kicks, cleats worn by Barry Sanders
I’m running, Hemi engine brain, I gun it
Even when I lost it I envision how I won it
True dreamer, Belichick schemer, looking leaner in a jersey
Don’t touch me like a wiener with the herpes, I’m untouchable
Ain’t shit free, like paying a deductible
Yo, you looking like headlights caught in the glare of a deer’s gaze
Drunks talking down on other drugs while in the belly of a beer maze
You done bumped into a straight shooter with queer ways
I’m the type to call shook women cowards
While draped in ivory I done took off the tower
I take a shower for tranquility
And run around the house naked
To keep a keen agility

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Poetry

It’s Kind Of Like Crank

I’m a hotshot. I walk with an edge
My kisses taste like an orange wedge
I think I’m the best at negging a girl
But I only go nuclear on a chosen few
She chose me to be her boo
I’m like, koo

That ain’t no sweat
We got a gallon of jet fuel
For one big ass jet
It’s charted
Whatever that means
I walked into the living room
And saw a random movie scene
Should I sit down to watch?
Is what I asked myself internally
In a split second I made the decision
Not to. I walked into my room and saw my laptop open
I said, fuck it. I got to.
That ain’t even no choice
Someone should make a movie
About a guy who dies
If he doesn’t write
For over a week
Kind of like Crank
That guy had to be
An adrenaline junkie

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Poetry

Funny Story

Put your hand in a toaster
The mind is a neuronal coaster roller
I know the names of parts of brains
How smart am I?
The question is rhetorical
I saw a baby on the street, crawling at my feet
It was adorable
I picked her up and deemed her parents
As deplorable
The baby I took home
But it wouldn’t stop crying,
now I’m flying in a rage
To cool off I went to a play and I threw my phone at the stage
I think I then left in a rush and tripped on a rotten log
In the trees was the baby in camma

Flauge

I’m like…what are you doing here?
Babies can’t walk?
The baby said, Shut up!
And I said, wtf
Babies can’t talk!

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