Wounds drip blood signaling your rise from the ashes.
Breaking off a mold upheld by the Masses.
Because,
It’s time for me to eat while I stack bread without whining for a match and,
A blunt wrap full of MJ as I rather ball on a stage and keep rappin’…
Ever wondered,
When is it your turn?
To get a piece of the Pie in a life where you starved for a bigger purse?
It’s a question my mind often thinks about while I’m hurt…
I mean,
What else do you yearn?
When you haven’t had dinner in a few days?
As an outcast casted out of society for everything you say?
All the truths most refuse to confront before it’s too late?
Burning through that “cream” given you with hardened exterior,
Like a nice creme brulee…
But,
What does it matter in a world full of little emcees too big on themselves.
Notorious to sell,
Their soul for a bigger pot where they boil up the real “them”.
And that’s their Wishing Well…
All I am is a poet who likes to rhyme words while I’m flowing to my own beats,
As I wish all others well…
Never do I elevate a pen to the surface of a page that may represent my future.
My pockets are empty,
But,
My heart is full as I dance with Poetry and amuse her.
With how I want so much better for myself,
While She smiles as I move her.
And move her.
Same way she moves me as I choose her,
Above the rest…
The only one who can lay me down and allow me to fall asleep with a smile,
On my bed.
Until the moment arrives,
For my silent death…
m3l0dicverse 
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