Hip Hop

Let's pretend that Hip Hop's a perfect lifestyle,
that the music always represents what's right.
But let's shed some light,
reveal everyday hip hop lies.
Materialistic, degrading lyrics leading our Rick Ross lives.
The P. Diddy's and Suge Knight's of the industry,
livin off other's success, livin off the elite.
Got Soulja Boy's reppin money and hoes,
and real boys reppin life, livin the streets.
These new style generations needa teach,
not brag about the money they record label leach.
Needa stop trippin over beats and try to understand the lyrics,
live a better life & look for inner perfection through your mirrors.
Look to yourself and change this world one song at a time,
show everyone what we all struggle with through every rhyme.
So pick up a pen and tell us about your life.
There's no rhyming necessary,
just put it on paper, and let the writing get teary.

Amen

Everyday the same,
he can't think straight or sane.
Waitin for an epiphany, makin that step to rap from poetry.
He's stuck, don't know what the fuck he doin,
to save her, keepin his pen to the paper.
FOr this rap game, what can he write for change.
Write about real life like in the 90s,
or talk about money he don't have, like these dumb kids.
Should he spit fast like Busta or Twista,
or talk slow and call himself a rapper, like Lil Wayne.
It's buggin him badly,
every lil apostrophe.
Unable to extend his vocabulary,
can't end with punctuation, can't be patient.
He just lets his writing flow word by word,
true meaning fluttering like a bird.
With every letter given a different emphasis,
so much meaning, can't empty this,
freestyle cuz his life's so vile.
Sending a letter to the mainstream.
cuz he's the mailman of mayhem,
got them begging to God, chantin Amen.

Morally Poor

The slightest word and you'll see,
a riot within me looking to be set free.
Ragin' and pacin' across my mind,
lookin' to unblind your views, see the true me.
Like Zumie, feeling shutdown and empty,
like you and he tryna understand my vocabulary.
I'm not actually using complicated terminology,
it's just life's too detailed I can't even see,
or comprehend how the world's been to me.
It's contraband, the truth is hidden illegally.
Like government feeding us lies politically,
so obese from the bullshit, we're not fit physically.
Stealing our money, we're in a dark pit fiscally,
and like any other great nation, we're doomed to fall inevitably.
Greed leaves us no patience, as we continue to burn trees.
I'm not talking about weed, just the poison called money.
We're fed this green, from the cunning.
Cash bound to us like the devil,
leaving our humanity in rubble.
With professional panhandlers acting like they're subtle,
when we're all just morally poor and in trouble.

Veracity

This relationship became inscrutable,
this argument is just indisputable.
It seemed like it was a pragmatic connection,
but it just had no appropriate direction.
So plainly convoluted that I couldn't bear to understand,
so abstruse it was like you were hiding your poker hand.
I'm using this cosmopolitan terminology,
so you can fully understand the complexity of my apology.
This poem is not an attempt to castigate,
no, I don't want to be the type to instigate.
Your circumstances had to be so credible to show me,
so that it would be incontrovertible against my plea.
I'm writing this basically so you're exonerated,
so I can feel like I shouldn't be completely hated.
Your way of thinking was just too scrupulous,
leaving me in an exorbitant mess.
The relationship always had to be ameliorated,
just causing disagreements to be created.
I was so inundated by your troubled past,
my past was so different in contrast.
I had tried to be curative to your dilemmas,
but it just wasn't a probable cause.
You were so dubious that it could work,
it just makes me feel like a jerk.
But I stayed up every night, ambivalent to your claims,
that this wouldn't end; guess it was just all games.
This poem is definitely ambiguous, it will leave you unable to discuss.
What this poem might have meant,
containing all my self-torment.

As seasons change

The cold winter moon hovering,
we all share her, all brought together.
She is a goddess, overlooking the running river.
Stream struggling to escape, from its confined prison,
slowly gathering speed, flowing away to an ocean.
The grasslands swayed forcefully by the winter wind,
but by spring,
absolutely lavish and free of domestication.
In spring, when the flowers bloom without end,
as each passing day reveals life crowded.
No more cold dark nights, expanded illumination,
early sun rise, expanded imagination.
As raindrops turn to rainbows, as sprinkles of water magnify the blazing sun.
A ray of light revealed at nature's touch,
to encompass earth with nature's tarp.
As the rain settles and warmth is birthed,
summer shows its heated worth.
Burning rays and waves feeling like a curse.
Running to tight crevices to hide from the light,
the cool winter river melts on sight;
as mother nature continues to meditate, ever so quietly.

My muse

Who is she?
My midsummer nights dream?
That cool morning breeze,
the sun's rays revealing the true beauty,
of her face.
Is her smile the cause of my haste,
to see those blue ocean eyes encompassed in flames?
The fury of a woman, unleashed in a wave,
but still as smooth as a violin.
The rhythm of her voice giving my life melody,
flow of her hair exceeding my writing's fluidity,
those beautiful eyes givin more goosebumps than my poetic delivery.
The reason I can look up & smile,
even in strife, keeping me up every night.
Even for a minute,
cuz I truly love her & I really mean it.
My ark savin me from the flood of humanity.
A start, to savin me from the cruelty.
My one forbidden thing, no matter the consequence,
I'll never regret our first acquaintance.
So then who is she?
My love for her so deep, I'm on a leash,
will it ever cease, will I ever be set free?
Nope, cuz she's my poetry.

The Short Little One

There's a girl in my class,
that always seems to give me a laugh.
Befriending her through utter annoyance,
making myself seem like an absolute dunce.
But the time has been particularly fun,
because I assume, a friendship is what has been won.
From starting out crabby, to ultimately becoming friendly,
I can say this much, it was definitely funny,
even to a certain degree.

This isn't a poem about crushing or loving,
or a poem about sucking up or hating.
It's more of a fun free-write to express my opinion,
about the girl in my class, the short little one.