Writing raps in this notepad helps this here broke lad break down his fear.
I hone the notes;
phase out bad elements
and purify the filaments which steer
my common sense.

But does it make you glad to know
that there are poets who crow about flow,
or about political turmoil –
whether serious or just some passing fad?
Those who care to
blare their woes to
chairs in rows
all their stories that
nobody knows
as if they were
impressive impresarios?

Well, I, for one,
love the tippy-toe confessionals,
for two fortuitous reasons:
seeing the Rule of Three being used so effectively and,
forcing the audience to forego their habitual

rituals, no matter the residual effects,
it should probably feel like you’re having some really good sex!
Coming correct, with continual consent and,
I bet if my decadent deceit need not be repeated then,
you listen well enough to get your crush’s cheeks heated!

Some advisory reads: “No Kiss and Tell!”
so I gotta hide my eating.
Never saw the sense in revealing where I
regularly like to find my seating.

But, as for reading? I liken it to lightning:
it’s like ideas flash before my eyes – blinding
my deciding mind until the sound of meaning crashes
through my spine and spills onto the page as writing.

You think I’m hiding Hell? My insides are inciting
a riot just because today they find it exciting!
My sides are saddling up my rib-cage for some riding.
Scamper up on these rhymes – they’re galloping like a stallion

rallying to the cry of a work horse. Of course,
who better to tell it to the letter than a good source?
Have you not suckled this simmering sauce that I sourced
from the finest of the coarsest boors? If not, then it’s your loss.