Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Styles Oct 2014
You seeing me rapping will never happen
Before that I’ll start cappin
Walk off like nothing happened
Since I’ve mastered this art of war
I tend to take things too far
Don’t give a **** who you think you are
Your rap handle doesn’t exist anymore
My rhythms galore, your rhythms manure
Best left in a bag
On your steps
At your front door
Hottest your rap crap will ever get
I’m so polished this is a blemish not a scrimmage
I treat you little *******
Like a teacher’s pet
Up against a Vietnam war vet
Giving you your first shoots
Flipping the script
Double barrel twelve gauge extended clip
Special grip pressed against your lip
Having a hard time talking ****
A pistol whip left your tooth chipped
Fake rappers rapping hard
No street creed; they ain’t legit
This wack imitation ****
Got me *******
Don’t get me started
you rip offs should get lost at all cost
dealing with a real boss I can handle a loss
Testing me lyrically, you must be previously *******
Now you are dearly departed
I’m styling on you I’m wilding
Bloodline of Goliath  
So go ahead start a riot
With my mic on autopilot
You can get chewed like trident
Eating wack MC’s
essential part of my diet
this ain’t even a battle verse
it’s a gift and a curse
running its course
on my high horse
shaffenstein Oct 2014
What stands after nothing,
what grows in the night?
What answers the calling,
what soothes untreated sight?
Tonight, without knowing,
know we sustained the right,
here now, without crumbling,
fight the dust in the mite.
We'll delight in the other,
never smother the fight...
but when hopeless
feels dopeless,
always answer the cry.
I know you'll find this story to be as
inexhaustibly motivating as I view your story  .
And such a motivation should be perpetuated.
Promise me that for every "battle" along your journey, that you fight relentlessly but always love incessantly.[uninterrupted!]*
-Crysha
An inscription written in a copy Hank Moodys "God  Hates Us All" bought for a  friend.
N v d Berg Oct 2014
Scars inside my prison heart
Scratch marks from within
Every surface scratched to shreds
**** near ripped apart

Scars outside my fleshy cage
Hidden well from view
From all the times he did come out
And take out all his pent-up rage
Hannah Beth Oct 2014
Some say
That with victory – a continuity is required.
To win, you must, win, and win again
You claim each battle as your own ‘til life
meets its end.

I bask in these triumphs as much as the next
Relish the sick clang as the hilt gripped between my fingers
Wobbles with each and every blow
To an enemy’s weakened defence

As I watch rival fortresses vanish
In the smouldering chimney puff
That follows the blaze of the bomb

                        just like that.
Boom. Do you see that? Look. It’s gone.

Last moments in castle courtyards
As medals of valour are draped
Round the veins of my neck.
(Look what I can do. I am powerful.
                                                       ­  Or so I thought.
)

No soldier is prepared for this.
The battle of the mind
Sharpened sword is useless
Throw your armour to the floor
No protection can be given
Clouds swell like balloons and blacken the corners
Of your brain
Eating from the edge like parasites
And this, I fight unarmoured.
Unarmed
And petrified.

So no.
I can’t say I agree.
To me
A victory
Does not entail an ounce of continuity.

For myself, any achievement
Is a success
No matter how large
How small
How scattered or random
Or spaced over time
If I can make it through the day
With a smile on my face
Sweet Victory, it’s mine.
Perrrrrrrrrsooonaaaaaaal shiiiiaaaat.
Olivia McCann Sep 2014
I've walked into a tunnel.
Following coats,
Dragging behind in
Abandon
The light is slitted
The shape above is
Too Close to my head.
The sharp,
Undecided angles bother me
And a nervous twitch begins.

I imagine it like a funnel,
Sorting population
To pass through in
Close quarters,
Contact guaranteed.

I sneeze
And cough.
My fever smolders
Making my skin chill,
And the thought of disease
Enters, and crowds with me,
Suffocating me to one side-
But not too close-
Don't touch anything.
Fear grows.
I am already sick
But I could get sicker.

Conspiracy drips over my thoughts,
My fever leaving the
normal functioning funnel
In my mind
To be burned away-
materializing in the city-
Around me.
My thoughts bunch
In clusters
And pass all at once,
Leaving waves of nausea
And claustrophobia
As I continue through the tunnel,
Paranoia worsening my symptoms
By the step.
Was very sick yesterday and foolishly made the mistake of busing into the city instead of going to school.
VSavani Sep 2014
A BULLET IS FIRED,
BLOOD IS DESIRED.

THERE IS NO WAY DOWN,
A SANGUINE BED AROUND.

THOSE BEHIND TABLES WATCH THE SHOW,
BUT, I'M A SOLDIER MADE TO BOW.

CUZ I'M A SOLDIER, I FIGHT FOR MY MOTHER,
TO THOSE PHONIES, I DESIRED TO TETHER.

MY END IS NEAR, I'VE A QUESTION,
TO MY COUNTRYMEN, DO I DESERVE ADMIRATION ?

I DESIRE NOTHING OVER MY CADAVER,
BUT A TRI-COLOR FLAG FOR A FLAG-WAVER.

OH MY LOVE DO NOT CRY,
CUZ, I'VE ATTAINED THE HIGHEST SKY.

LET MY LAD KNOW THE DEED OF MINE,
SO HE'LL BE NEXT IN THE MARTYR-LINE.
The Tricolor flag represents The INDIAN flag.
I fight silent battles,
I struggle everyday.
Victory, I know-
Is surely on the way!
We all fight silent battles. It's hard to press on when you are facing all sorts of crises. Victory is certain, it just takes time.
Next page