People write everyday I just can’t do it
My brain isn’t always on point my thoughts aren’t always so fluid
It’s like some of these poets are robotic simulators
Speaking in thoughts needing translators
Me I’m just simple I want to get my thought across
Not engross you so heavily that you miss the message and end up loss
What good is my words if they take aim in miss the heart?
If I get to that point I’d rather give up the art
I am a Poet to me I Portray Overly Excessive Thoughts
Isn’t that what we all are
Allowing you to receive our words to fill your emotional droughts
Feigning for sexual stimulation, or words to heal a heartbreak
Or simply a couple of rhyming words to borrow to help score past first base
Poets if we think about it were sort of like slaves
To the pen and our readers are our masters
Or no at least to some this is
We pour our hearts out and wait with doleful eyes like that of kids
Yearning to be thanked with candy and pray we don’t receive figs
Or lumps of coal like on Christmas day
When we open up our stocking staring in dismay
Thinking back to when you were naughty for an explanation
But there isn’t one
If we continue pimping ourselves out
To the masters of Gs
Our stars will become our hearts and are minds the comments
Our souls measured in views and the rating our yokes
If we succumb poets will become jokes
And I don’t know about you
But I want to continue ministering to the souls
Writing real truths and allowing stories to unfold
So take what I’ve written to heart
And please don’t delay don’t allow yourself to become a slave
Control your fate