Connection
You might be confusing that with discretion

Lesson
Yeah I'll teach you two
Exactly to your heart
Is what I'll do

Second thoughts
Maybe that's
what you should do
Speaking truth or speaking rhythm
Now tell me what's the difference
I can sense the tension the friction the whole she bang
But bang not what I do

Teach I don't preach
Leech on your money
No I got my honey
Goin ham
No I am rabbit

Can't trap me in those lies
Seeking truth and denying
Bureaucrat wanna be
Just wish I could call my family

Family see no evil hear no evil
Do all evil
Believe father ******* whatever you call Him
He is no God
No gift of life
Just whole life struggle
Original sin from blood you were given
No choice
Mama too young
Almost not given her own voice
But thank God you
Rhythm helped you come alive
Scarecrow born in the field
Magic land but no fairytale

Modern society an epiphany of hell
Because we're still spillin blood
In our own streets
Serenity and peace
The enemy of greed
Feed the capitalist horse
Let's go Trojan
Owin to our past what our mother's have lived in
And
Overcome the sin that we falsely believe in plant the gardens in your heart
A seed is just a beginning

If so maybe I'll kiss you

Why don't we challenge the status quo
And write the order of the alphabet differently?
I don't believe that U should prior to T nor V should prior to U
Because for me, U is best written before N and I

Testing
Yeah this things on
But you can't hear me
a deaf mime telling the best joke of your life
Because the joke is you

At the hapless poetry event
I thought I’d have a splendid time
But as a poet I should know
That life has the habit of being cruel
So immensely cruel

So I had to avoid the debris
Of classical poetry
And suffer from the boundaries
Put upon my creativity
My poor creativity

And I felt useless, since it turned out to be punless
They didn’t see the point of puns
And I felt pointless, for I could not rhyme
No, I would not rhyme
Such a horrid time

And people dressed in ironic ways
Tried to evoke the nineteenth century
Pretending that complexity
Makes for better poetry
Oh, my poor, simple poetry

So I stood there, with my glass of wine
And my pun-filled collection of wit
No rhymes to hide behind
And no gravity to my humble words
Oh, poor, humble man

And a lady in red, with blue hair
Awkwardly grabbing me by the arm
Asked me if I had suffered enough
And if I ever wanted to **** myself
God, how I wanted to **** myself

But the irony always wins
As words poured in my mind
With puns in abundance
So finally suffering inspired me
At the hapless poetry event

Poetry is like a *****
in its wobbly, dangly freeness
(This poems not the cleanest so stop reading if you're a little squeamish)

Some have it, some don't
some use it, some won't
some like it awkward with a twist at the end
like a shakespearean couplet but on the person it depends

for others its merely secondary
(oh but always necessary)
to the holder - their Mars or Venus
So, as god is my witness,
poetry is a *****

I poetried.