Used to think I had some skill...
But people let me know the deal
Here I thought I wrote what they could feel
So unreal
Not a pity party
I hardly
Listen to what folks say
Tend to do things my way
Putting inner most thoughts on display
Almost like I seek
Critique
Far from sensitive
Guess I get what I give
Then I started to think I needed to dumb shit down..
Like I was on that Lupe' Fiasco sound!
Didn't feel right..
To me the rhymes were still tight..
But it wasn't me..
I wasn't provoking thought...
Wasn't natural...felt store bought..
Emotional writer..with tears I fought...
I'd sit back
And wait for those to react..
Oh how they act
Like my vernacular wasn't consciously
Fucking their subconscious see..
Like they couldn't touch the words like Braille...
If not...as a poet I fail....
If you're not mentally fornicating
As I detail spine tingling sensation
Making panties wet...
As I define my sex
Better yet
Talk bout real life shit..
As real as it gets...
Life...death...
Points in between...shit what's left????!!!!
Am I not relateable?
Through my lines not capable...
Perhaps...I'm irrelevant
I'm rhyming gibberish..my style incoherent?
Don't be kind..
Say what comes to mind!!!
So won't be no more wasting time!!
One Love
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