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faith  Nov 2017
~hurt~
faith Nov 2017
i woke up to the sound of my mother's crying,
i knew that she wouldn't be lying,
she said that my poppa is gone,
i feel helpless like i'm just a pawn,
my heart slowly started to break,
my body then started to shake,
i covered up my emotions,
and went through the motions,
i tried not to feel,
to not be real,
now i hurt,
because he's in the dirt.
I miss him so much.
Classy J Dec 2016
They call me the smartest *****; they look at me like they would at Sauron.  Maybe I am just destined to be defined like an oxymoron, and also why do people shut their doors on me like I was a Mormon. Did I make the right choice when I took the blue pill and moved into Zion? Don’t know how to feel or who or what I should rely on. Bygones are bygones, got to follow the drill, so best not pull any funny ones. Being spied on, got no where to run, after all when your under a dictatorship there is no time for fun, there is only time to train one how to shoot a gun. Blang blam got a cross on fire on my lawn from the dreaded Ku Klux ****.  One extreme to another, what happened to Jesus’s teachings of how we are all heavenly sisters and brothers? **** the American dream; **** this apparent land of the free where anyone from anywhere can attain cream. Not a joke so turn this into a meme, this is serious if you only saw the things which some claim as the unseen.

Open your mind; don’t bind yourself to devilish things that appear kind. Charging up my chakra, hypnotizing you with my words like I’m the unclaimed child of Big Poppa. I am so waka I get yawl flocking to my flame, my bars aint **** yeah they as lit as Mary Jane. Bulking up like Bain, natural leader and I got a big brain. Some stalker ******* get so shady, thinking that I will spend my gravy, or that I will have their baby. Sorry I am not interested in getting rabies or taking a taste of your dead daisy. This is my loot; ***** the only thing I’ll give you is the boot. Scoot away from me, best stray by the bay before I write a restraining order on thee.  What is this world coming to? Harold be it that we stuck in a rut with a storm beginning to brew.  

People say I should stop drinking because I got family duties and responsibilities but I drink because I have to deal with the stress from family duties and responsibilities.  **** it all; **** my *****, better duck down because one punch and you’ll fall. Got the gall, Pokémon master man **** right I’m about to catch them all! I’m super and I like to smash bro, so better hide your ***** and your side **. Classically unclassified, mentally traumatized from a fall out of a genocide. Time to be unfiltered; rhyming from a heart that used to be good but now has been altered. Maybe I am just an oxymoron, just a sly fox that know how to survive because no matter what my hope for a better world will stay strong. I may live in this world but I am not of it, I may continue to give until I decide to say ah **** it! Isn’t it ironic? Isn’t the whole point of being a rapper to make a profit and strive to rap as fast as the speed of sonic? Let me puff some **** and drink till I’m subatomic. Wouldn’t that be ironic? Wouldn’t that be something if I chose to become like everyone else and live out a life of being toxic. So am I ironic or am I just an oxymoron? Don’t give a **** either way because I am iconic and will take anything you haters bring on!
Travis Green Dec 2018
Down at the barbershop where the
upbeat finesse fills the scene,
hypnotic basslines and smoking beats
rise from the radio into the
jazzy air.  

Various boys and men come
by to get close haircuts, fresh
fades, and dope designs.
Harmonic flows travel across
the shimmering space, bright
waves of excellent taste, a
thrilling serenity of light,
as the barbers create magic
in the brilliant place.  

Biggie’s lyrical anthem, Big Poppa,
blazes around the room,
hip-hopping jams full of
deep spins and breaking booms.

Groovy barbers rap to the beat,
spitting fire flaming diction
in glowing dimension, marching
in glorious rhythms, as the
whole masterpiece becomes
a supersonic sea of incessant
boogying and wavy arms,
snapping ankles and dancing
feet, an engine racing extravagance
moving in high flight.
The Poet Tree  Oct 2018
KLOVE
The Poet Tree Oct 2018
You could never tell by the look in those eyes, that most days I don't feel like a Prince,
More like a pauper, sometimes a fraud,
To this princess that would make no sense,
She would never know by the smile on my face, that inside I hide a frown,
She sees, Daddy the Great, when all I see is Poppa the Clown,
You could never tell as she hugs tight around my neck,
as if she'd been  missing me for years,
She pulls me by the hand, and I stumble behind,
Wiping away a happy, guilty tear,
I work so much so she doesn't want, myself I'm trying to convince,
I'm missing her grow, all curly hair, dimples and innocence
I try not to break the tiny chair at the tiny table she's prepared,
Joined by Ducky, Mister Fits, and Bear Bear,
Daddy, tea is best when it's shared,
Of course it is sweetie, Daddy! Did you forget?
Me? No, and we sing, Duck Duck, Fit Fit,
Then we growl like Bear Bear, clink our tiny cups, and then Together we sip.

— The End —