I am the rhyme that reason forgot

the time inside of time running out of time

rearranging times plot

Your malinated molested watermelon mind

Turning niggez into negros than back into niggers

suns stars moons radiant rainbows and holy horoscopes

For all my niggas

And I write poetry as if my skin is pealing off with each word

While pronouncing the whole word

Middle America depression suppressed in between the binding of my $5 chapbook

Hoping to score at least one ten in the next slam that I enter

Proving that my pain is more potent than the other poets with poems pretending to be poets

Just like me

And I yes I I’m the crack laced inner city stanzas spitting faster than HipHop influenced poetic break-beats on city streets with pseudo psychological shots pop locking beats dropping as the bass keeps bumping flows fluctuating at speeds to keep the listener from finding out that I’m fronting

Angels entangled in the strings of devilish puppetry Gods and angels and God is a devilish angel spitting stanzas upon stanzas of poetry

That actually says nothing

Maybe that’s why it’s not all that memorable

But I can make the word I expand into multiple syllables

Cause when I spit its intense even when the writing aint shit

And I’ve come to preach poetry from my own personal liquor filled pulpit

And you will be forced to listen as long as every line that I’m spitting sounds exactly like this

And I go haarrrrd as shit, even when the poem is wack as shit

And girl

I’m going fuck you so hard

That you wont even be able to fill the pain of slaves flowing through your veins

Lick upon your clitoris like wet liquorish until you spew liquid from the waters of lake Kalamazoo

And the Jericho walls surrounding your G spot will then drop the same way your panties do

Right after you leave the venue, with that dude sitting right next to you

Or or oratory orbs floating in energy esoteric revolutionary lyrical synergy

So that when I’m spitting you better listen as I rip it like this

So that just maybe they’ll all remember me and my verses like church hymns

Wait wait let me think of some famous black names to say in between

my wordplay even if I don’t know anything about them

I’m I’m I’m 4 square

4 square 7 years, 4 square and 7 years

Inside 4 squares, 4 square and 7 years

4 square in between here and there

But going nowhere, flying in nike airs

Believe it, hustle so hard I could sale a paraplegic

A flight of new stairs, and you don’t want no warfare

Dopest poet to open the opus floating setting like lotus

So focused so focused I’m watching you watch me

Watching your girl watch me God watching my watch

Watching me watching my watch and its time

For the audience to notice me

So what do we notice

Hmmmmmm… now do any of these styles sound familiar

Spoken word cloning cum coated Yakub poetry

cause niggez been grafting they whole style and persona from other poets

diet dopeness… doping the audience into thinking that what you spitting is the truth

but what you spitting isn’t you

honestly ya’ll metaphors and similes need to be on Maury

cause the father of your style is someone other than you

unenlightened biters discussed as entertaining writers reciting

in the image of another niggez lyrical likeness

but nothing you approach the mic with

was ignited in your own voice

cause you don’t have one

yet as soon as you step on stage all of a sudden you got a different voice huh?

How the fuck you got a poetry voice???

Hey Yo spoken word has become token word and word

these art-aficiul ass wordsmiths

need extensive amounts of help

maybe you’d be a better poet if instead of trying to be a poet you focused on trying to be yourself

but it all just seems so useless

lackluster lyricists looking stupid steady Yakubing

beyond paragraphs you then even graphted pre-choreographed theatric stage movements

a little bit of this and that and of course some of these

shaking your hand faking emotional sincerity imitating Taalam Acey

but lack the actual skill or profound writing

speaking while seeking reaching your hand into your pocket

for Lamar Hill’s stolen style so you can recite it

pausing your set to sip from plastic poetic bottles filled with liquid A.T.M. wordplay sucking up all the Archie but left behind the entire message

come on son

I can see the difference between imitation and innovation

cause your spitting a cloned cadence that’s uncreative making poetry resemble a recycled record same song continually spinning to no end

somebody needs to brake the cycle with a pen

because “Until Then” Tattle Tales I’ll tell unoriginal tall tells showing they tells

rising to the Mike (mic) like a Phoenix with meaningless lines

exposed in poems composed months behind their time

cause honestly most of these hosers posing as the next Poet Emcee’s is just Yung B

body language all boisterous

Poets to Def to hear anything other than the inflection

of their own Slave New Voices projected on the TV screen

unable to see any history prior to 2003 open your mind

word to Eli “the revolution has been compromised”

nigga please if you “Langston Hughes on steroids”

then I’m obviously Amiri Baraka meets Bruce Lee

see you going have to go back a whole lot further to find me

to Gylan Kain on top of the roof top

or maybe perhaps a prophet from Watts

heavy weighted words woven into the concrete

or possibly if you could manage to find

you tube footage of a Fredrick Douglass speech

cause evidently it seems that the spoken word art as a practice has become just acting and reenacting vocally stepping to the m.i.c. with Yakub poetry

cause your whole style is graphted from somebody else’s nuts

so how about you innovate and originate for once and actually step your writing up

yea I said it

now what???