"Hey blue shirt!"

My hands crave to write her praise on every page
her walk possesses absolute alliteration
with soulful sways
seducing my senses
into producing serene stanzas dedicated to the gold haze,
of her irises
or scribble a whole script about her hips
or manufacture a whole manuscript depicting only her lips
i could write a song for every line that resigns on her finger tips
i could go on for days about all the various ways i want to make waves
in her heart
but i think instead
simply introducing myself
would be a good start.


Hey Blue Shirt!

The "P" Poem

I have a plethora of problems that pop up periodical
prone to make me publicly shout profanities provocatively
for instance im down with OPP
that's other peoples property
for those not programed properly to perceive
my personality
i can be stereotypical and pick pride as a priority
unfortunately in this world pride links to power links to paper
which links to the next problem of not having a penny in my pocket
plus i suffer from the absence of possessing old president mug shots
printed on green parchment
i promise i could start a parade with all my problems
but fuck it lets throw a house party
ill pop the popcorn you pack the pipe
after i puff puff i pass cuz im always polite
but now im paranoid
too scared to press the power button on the television in fear
of a program where pompous politicians swear to protect me while
pommelling me with persuasive propaganda persecuting my own people
what the puck!
my favorite color is purple
and since i passed puberty
ive loved pussy with a passion
alas im a passive paramour
meaning i purposely dont pursue
meaning i unpurposly never prevail
but according to a prehistoric philosopher
we have less than a year left
so im punching pre caution out the window
pushing it out the plane with no parachute
so hopefully you posses some protection in your purse
for were about to partake in a pleasurable predicament
all night form the pm to the am
and hopefully there not prostitutes
for i have no paper to pay them
i am a prosperous prototype of a protagonist
promised to protect my property with my prowess
punching proud criminals in the pupil for prowling
in my proximity
i am the protege of a black panther
i am a provoked poet far from prude
punishing those that pry in other peoples business
so before i explode like a propane tank
be so kind to please pass the Prozac.

D's mutha fucka D's!

After much deliberation and observation
of this congregation
i arrived at a conclusion
to disarm my delusion
and dissolve my detestable demeanor
even dethrone my devilish detachment of emotion
and stop causing such delinquent commotions
depart from my old mind
to deny my destructive demise
and deviate my unsatisfactory destiny
to realize you are my salvation in disguise
i will desperately devote myself to my desires
extinguishing all deposition
take control of the directors chair to my dreams
so i can directly dictate all disadvantages to disappear
disintegrate my minds discipline to the disparity
that's creating distance between you and me
and damn those that oppose,
and damn those that deem my disobedience disgrace full
for to have eyes and witness her Grace is to justify my determination
leave entire nations in disrepair
fight the devil himself for a deviant stare
only your affection may divulge my DNA
for who i am can only be determined
once i am whole
Drastically drifting back down to earth
after detoxing my body of your infatuation
only to further draw the fact that you are my favorite drug
driving drowsy while drowning in drinkable obsession
dying while drunk from consumption of my dysfunctional duty
to detain a beast
while searching
for a
beauty

separation anxiety

She turns her head
for she wishes not to be plagued by images
of my pain
in her dreams,
pulls on her hood to mask supernatural beauty,
turns, and walks away,
leaving my corpse to restlessly lie
on cold earth.
i find the strength to keep one eye open
just long enough to witness the distance grow
hopelessly praying
she will grace me with one final glance
with no such luck
i let
go

dont worry about it

You are an unsymmetrical butterfly
for your beauty is beyond the measure of nature
i would need to master at least 3 new languages
to muster up the words that can justly describe
your unforgiving loveliness.
Unfortunately im only fluent in Ebonics
so the phrase "GOD DAMN SON!"
which was my initial reaction
was less than a fraction
worthy to address your souls sum.
you evoke words i didnt know i possessed
yet when we make eye contact they turn and run down my tongue
thus i remain silent
but dont worry about it.

tears

Only the eyes of a hip hop head
would drop tears
screaming onomatopoeia's
when he crys
its like hes dropping beats
they fall with booms and baps
carpet booming sadness
from the souls windows
annihilating the ants of the asphalt
its funny how your problems never seem to
contain them selves
to pertain to yourself
and so its contagious sorrows
filling the trees hallows
making the mad dog howellllll
which in tern wakes up the old man
who walks to work with a scowl
because he got no sleep last night
which might explain why when he read that bill he signed
he skipped the last line
and legalized racial profiling
so on the way to the spot
the hip hop head got got
pulled over and cuffed by a cop
unrightfully detained
so back he fought
an extended sentence
was his only reward for his civil rights persistence
and so
boom boom bap
alone in a cell
boom boom bap
the hip hop head cries
boom boom bap
the poet cries
boom boom bap
my people cry
boom boom bap bap
onomatopoeia tears.

im that type of poet

i dont touch mics
in fear they might spontaneously com-bust
im the jeffery domer of poetry
i open mics till you can see there guts
i spit real shit everybody feels
you can say my poems are sluts
with vivacious similes and big ol butts
i got lines that dont even ryhme
and still make you feel uneasy like the bubble guts
sticks and stones break bones but what i spit is like paper cuts
i ve been writing for over 2 years and never gave one fuck
and if i ever get stuck i quick fast hulk smash boulders
so i never get writers block
you think i had on 3 wist watches
the way i stay on time while
switch
swithcin my style
i use poetic license in my everyday speech
even though i dont really know what that means
i m actually quite stoopid
see im that type of poet who would rather convince you im dope than actually prove it