High on Poems

Sometimes I feel Isolated. I hate it
F is all I see when my papers are graded.
I sit in the back of the bus and class faded.
I have this mind that is painted on a canvas.
There’s still a few gaps that need shaded.

My hatred is so dilated.
I close myself off so I can start concentrating.
Deliberating why my life is so filled with strife.
What is wrong and what is right.

I feel like I’m playing ping pong
With an invisible man asking if I can write a song
For any future fans. I need a new outlet.
I’m starting to doubt shit.

Hop on High on poems to show someone.
To show them.
That my imagination can surpass every falsification.
They look at my words and how I spit.

They see that fire I so badly want lit.
But they see my inappropriate content and call it shit.
That’s ok I’ll take the hit but this hand is still shaking.
I can feel a heat rising. A beat dropping.

I’m not faking.
Throw you in the oven till you start baking.
My pen is like a knife.
Cutting in rhymes like a corpse thrown in the back of a rich man’s porch.

Driving around for a spot towards the basketball courts
To dump the body on top of the billboards.
I’m bored but I can’t afford to lay down in cape.
If I do then I may as well be cut into shapes at the morgue.

Don’t be shy, please don’t cry.  
The end of this rhyme is neigh.
But before I go I must confess
That I am not telling a lie

When I promised I will rise.
There will never be a day they’ll say I met my demise.

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