Left to write, with.
Silver and Goal
Truth be told
I’d trade all my silver and gold
For a sliver of one of my goals.
My pie in the sky been chillin, on hold so long
Till the frigid-aire chilled it cold.
Doubts in my mind turn pie desires into a la mold
Yet my ambition keeps burning, coal.
Plus the fire in my eye so bold
So ctrl+B, cause he be on his grind
Like brakes that you need to replace, but he no whine.
Practice makes perfect, he keeps trying.
Stuck in a rat race on a quest for cheese
Stay away from alley cats, rat traps and fleas.
Mama said there’s days, but she aint mention these
I’m amazed to the 9th degree, this maze is life to me.
I hurdles life’s burdens, it’s a 100-yard dash
Stereotypes tied to me like a a girdled jackass
I was passed the baton from generations past
Finish line, my pot of goal, keep your cash. I’ll pass.
Lovemake
Sweatin’ in the summer, warm in the winter
Nourish me to whole, so-full like dinner.
Back when I was thinner, probably grade 9th
I met this little usher, in my church, she was fine.
I was rather shy and didn’t have a line
Didn’t have a mind, I was dumb and blind.
Then she’d catch me, looking at her but(t) so what
It was cute and she knew, but I knew not to touch.
She had the cooties, and I was being Dr. Phil
Tryna to cop a feel and Jack it off to Jill.
That’s when I had it bad, a cocky handgun
Now I’m twenty-one, carrying a shotgun.
Dope. Poet.
I’m the dopest poet
I suppose yes? Know this.
Quississentially quoted
Spares bowled, arrows bowed it.
Sir Celsius, the coldest.
You quitter, cards folded.
King Midas, I’m the goldest
You’re a pawn, peasant, po’est.
single dude
sleeping in a double-wide
looking for menage et tois
for foreplays
and high five’s.
sixth-sense
seven sins, a weak eye
he ate
all nine lives
then dessert dimes.
To: all the women of my past, who were ‘Waiting for Superman’ while I ran through it like Flash (Gordon).
I apologize, no pile of lies.
Hello, Kitty
She’s got these cat eyes, so sly
Nine lives, all mine
Feline, she’s fine
Her purr makes my fur rise.
Arch like an M sign
Watching her tail from behind
I kiss her, my whiskers
Tickle her like punch lines.
My kitten, I’m smitten
Stroking her from back, mittens
In my lap she’s sitting
In t-r-o-u-b-l-e she’s getting.
Pussy-willow, bad as, switch
A spanking from me, what she’ll get
Since she’s a threat and I TSA, frisk
I Leo, she’s my Tigress
but I digress.
Flashing Lights Blind Sight
I don’t write like this but y’all like it like this.
Dumb customers won’t buy unless it’s twice ignorant.
Iced up wrists, so cold that it’s quite frostbit
With a hue rather blue cause its -6, degrees.
Watch, my other hand I tell time with
Face big like the windshield of the cockpit.
In that red-eye plane, me and five young dames
I should call ‘em dimes, fifty-cents, it’s all the same.
Before I continue and you disdain
Let me explain to you what’s on my frame:
A fresh pair of Jordan’s, I never even wore them
By the time I take ‘em off I will probably abhor them.
My designer jeans were designed it seams
With platinum needles and solid gold stitching.
Unspoiled, unsoiled, no patch, so clean.
Got you all frowned up now you know that’s mean.
A pressed white-T under my fresh wife-beat(er).
Domestically it (ar)rests to my knees.
Handcuffs link to my pinky ring
My pimp cup shines and my Angels Sheen
Winning.
Yeah that’s his
Look but don’t touch cause he got dibs.
That’s Eve
His baby, his back, his rib.
She’s his First Lady
Don’t 2nd his.
Uh huh, yeah she ten
But calling her a ‘dime’ is a Cardinal Sin.
