The first time I wrote a verse
On and on words I rehearsed.
My pencil, it speaks.
For others to listen.
Gives me strength to the weak,
Grant blind, the vision.
Used to think it wasn’t with worth
But had the priceless feeling of
a baby’s birth.
Though my head spins, like
the movement of Earth
I found out the powerful
magic of words.
I write a picture bigger than life,
story so beautiful you want to
make it your wife.
Yes, it’s so wrong, but it feels so right.
Million dollar dreams,
just living my life.
I wanna back down,
just give it to Christ.
I think like a puzzle trying to pull itself together.
I feel like a cloud is following me–
I’m trying to endure the weather.
I think I’m trapped,
stuck in this jail,
soaked in tree sap.
I write to give the story of my life.
Like when I walked the streets at night
and why we live our life so trife
and why we dodge bullets living under street lights
and why they treat us like criminals
and lock us up every night
and why I gotta stay on all night flights
just so I can live life and get
my pockets right so I can
go on a rocket flight.
I think about life mentally.
I think about life in the penitentiary.
I think of what life meant to me,
then I think of what God said to me.
I think of the world and life
and how we’re not living it right,
and how I lost family to stray
bullets every other night.
And I can’t stand to bare
the sign that said beware,
’cause most of these kids are scared–
so I might just move to Delaware.
I write to paint pictures with words.
I write to mix nouns with verbs.
I write to paint a picture so vividly,
words that stick to me mentally.
They say I should stop eventually,
but I don’t listen to my enemies.
I write to give sympathy
for the other side of me.
I write because you lied to me,
I thought you could confide in me.