Wide eyed, he asks me, What is spoken word?
I mean, isn’t that something that I heard on the radio a minute ago and I turned up the volume to get a little crescendo
When my system was bumping, my friends were jumping and 50 was talking about pumping some lead into some dude with his berretta just so he can betta his sickest vendetta
And then I hear you. And I have to address the question that hasn’t been asked yetta
Who are you, HANNAH KOPEN? Cuz I was hopin' you would tell me because to tell you the truth, you look a couple shades too pale
To sound like the songs to be singing about being out on bail fresh outta jail
And I said, yes, that that is how it feels when I put my lips to the mic.
But I can’t tell you what it really is, I can only tell you what it feels like.
But, Please don't confuse the abused terminology of the word "vanilla" for "ordinary"
My skin may be pale but I come as a full package and am not afraid to use it!
So Yes! I let my beats flow. Yes, I rock to the hip-hop. so Sue me.
and yes, I may be small, but don’t you forget that I have the personality of a 7 foot tall Amazonian.
Some say that's a “tall glass of woman,” I say, that that's me being as happy as can be. And I can’t help it if my minds combined with licks of rhythm and rhyme.
No it is not a war crime!
because my shoe sole is void of holes and my human soul is void of the scars you get from being behind bars or the scars from waking up and feeling that no matter how wise you are you’ll always be marginalized by society’s eyes so no, I was not raised on the streets but if you strip away those instrumental beats and the platinum teeth then all your left with is words.
you see, poetry is eternity and words are just specks to see
dazzling in its mystery transcending history and I once was blind but now I can write
so, no I was not raised on the streets but neither was poetry
it rose with the first sunrise, opened with the first eyes, comforted baby cries, gave birth to dragonflies, cursed me with my eyes.
Yes, eyes are in fact the windows to the soul and the soul is the kind of thing that glitters and sings and is so permanent that even a bullet from a pistol couldn’t break, shatter or name it indignant.
The truth is I've never fooled anyone. I've let people fool themselves. They didn't bother to find out who and what I really was. You see, I'm selfish, impatient, and insecure. I make mistakes. I am out of control and at times, hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you don't deserve me at my best.
And I be doing it to death and now I move a little foul
A jigga better call a ref, and everybody knows my style
And you know I'm the best when it comes to doing this
And I be banging on my chest, and I bang in the east, and I'm banging in the west
And I come to give you more and I will never give you less
You will hear it in the street or you can read it in the press
Do you really wanna know what's next?
Man forget these haters, how y'all doin'?
I'm Lil Tootsie, I'm a nuisance, I go stupid, I go dumb like the 3 stooges
I don't eat sushi, I'm the stuff, no pollution or substitution
Now I'm chillin playin movies in my Jacuzzi, fruit is juicy
So sweet and juicy!
Hey remember that time when I would only smoke … cigarettes and chocolate milk…
Hey remember that time when I was broke
I didn't care I just bummed from my friends
*** *** *** *** *** yes, that’s what you do when you run out of words, and the energy to make fun on your own terms
Yes you, use and you choose and enthuse and infuse someone else blues
to be a part of your own memory.
Blessed are the forgetful, for they get the better even of their blunders.
Now that, that was Nietzsche, not me.
But even all through the bumping and grinding and the spitting and rhyming
I am still nobody but me, and that gives truth to my individuality
so
yes, i believe in love, yes, i'm a dreamer. but i'm not alone. there are more of us than you suspect. and we've got bombs. truth and beauty bombs
that exist and ignite in the blue veins in my palms.
i love hands like I love people
they’re the maps and compasses with which we navigate our way through life
some people read palms to tell your future but I read hands to tell your past
each scar marks a story worth telling
each callused palm, each cracked knuckle is a missed punch or years in a factory
but most of all, hands have memory.
my hands remember his, rolling 'round the shaded ferns
Naked arms, his secrets still like songs I'd never learned
Yes life will hit you hard in the face, wait for you to get back up just so it can kick you in the stomach but know that getting The wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air.
There is hurt. Here. And there. That cannot be fixed by band aids or poetry.
No matter how wide you stretch your fingers your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal.
When I grow up I want to look at the world and explore, see, dream, and sing
Cuz that’s the way my mom taught me, they’ll be days like this, they’ll be days like this my mama said.
So don’t be afraid, don’t shy away, don’t hesitate for one second too late to
let your wings fly, Look up and kiss the sky
and always remember that life is what you make it,
This world is made out of sugar it can crumble so easily but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it
Nov 4, 2025
Nov 4, 2025 at 1:15 PM UTC
Wide eyed, he asks me, What is spoken word?
I mean, isn’t that something that I heard on the radio a minute ago and I turned up the volume to get a little crescendo
When my system was bumping, my friends were jumping and 50 was talking about pumping some lead into some dude with his berretta just so he can betta his sickest vendetta
And then I hear you. And I have to address the question that hasn’t been asked yetta
Who are you, HANNAH KOPEN? Cuz I was hopin' you would tell me because to tell you the truth, you look a couple shades too pale
To sound like the songs to be singing about being out on bail fresh outta jail
And I said, yes, that that is how it feels when I put my lips to the mic.
But I can’t tell you what it really is, I can only tell you what it feels like.
But, Please don't confuse the abused terminology of the word "vanilla" for "ordinary"
My skin may be pale but I come as a full package and am not afraid to use it!
So Yes! I let my beats flow. Yes, I rock to the hip-hop. so Sue me.
and yes, I may be small, but don’t you forget that I have the personality of a 7 foot tall Amazonian.
Some say that's a “tall glass of woman,” I say, that that's me being as happy as can be. And I can’t help it if my minds combined with licks of rhythm and rhyme.
No it is not a war crime!
because my shoe sole is void of holes and my human soul is void of the scars you get from being behind bars or the scars from waking up and feeling that no matter how wise you are you’ll always be marginalized by society’s eyes so no, I was not raised on the streets but if you strip away those instrumental beats and the platinum teeth then all your left with is words.
you see, poetry is eternity and words are just specks to see
dazzling in its mystery transcending history and I once was blind but now I can write
so, no I was not raised on the streets but neither was poetry
it rose with the first sunrise, opened with the first eyes, comforted baby cries, gave birth to dragonflies, cursed me with my eyes.
Yes, eyes are in fact the windows to the soul and the soul is the kind of thing that glitters and sings and is so permanent that even a bullet from a pistol couldn’t break, shatter or name it indignant.
The truth is I've never fooled anyone. I've let people fool themselves. They didn't bother to find out who and what I really was. You see, I'm selfish, impatient, and insecure. I make mistakes. I am out of control and at times, hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you don't deserve me at my best.
And I be doing it to death and now I move a little foul
A jigga better call a ref, and everybody knows my style
And you know I'm the best when it comes to doing this
And I be banging on my chest, and I bang in the east, and I'm banging in the west
And I come to give you more and I will never give you less
You will hear it in the street or you can read it in the press
Do you really wanna know what's next?
Man forget these haters, how y'all doin'?
I'm Lil Tootsie, I'm a nuisance, I go stupid, I go dumb like the 3 stooges
I don't eat sushi, I'm the stuff, no pollution or substitution
Now I'm chillin playin movies in my Jacuzzi, fruit is juicy
So sweet and juicy!
Hey remember that time when I would only smoke … cigarettes and chocolate milk…
Hey remember that time when I was broke
I didn't care I just bummed from my friends
*** *** *** *** *** yes, that’s what you do when you run out of words, and the energy to make fun on your own terms
Yes you, use and you choose and enthuse and infuse someone else blues
to be a part of your own memory.
Blessed are the forgetful, for they get the better even of their blunders.
Now that, that was Nietzsche, not me.
But even all through the bumping and grinding and the spitting and rhyming
I am still nobody but me, and that gives truth to my individuality
so
yes, i believe in love, yes, i'm a dreamer. but i'm not alone. there are more of us than you suspect. and we've got bombs. truth and beauty bombs
that exist and ignite in the blue veins in my palms.
i love hands like I love people
they’re the maps and compasses with which we navigate our way through life
some people read palms to tell your future but I read hands to tell your past
each scar marks a story worth telling
each callused palm, each cracked knuckle is a missed punch or years in a factory
but most of all, hands have memory.
my hands remember his, rolling 'round the shaded ferns
Naked arms, his secrets still like songs I'd never learned
Yes life will hit you hard in the face, wait for you to get back up just so it can kick you in the stomach but know that getting The wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air.
There is hurt. Here. And there. That cannot be fixed by band aids or poetry.
No matter how wide you stretch your fingers your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal.
When I grow up I want to look at the world and explore, see, dream, and sing
Cuz that’s the way my mom taught me, they’ll be days like this, they’ll be days like this my mama said.
So don’t be afraid, don’t shy away, don’t hesitate for one second too late to
let your wings fly, Look up and kiss the sky
and always remember that life is what you make it,
This world is made out of sugar it can crumble so easily but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it
