Paper Filled

My paper at first it’s all white
Then I crowd it with what I feel inside all night
I don’t know if it’s a rap song or a theme
Is it how I express myself or plan out my next scheme
Like that target looking at the barrel of my 9 with the beam
Is it how I build a plan or organize my team
Like when you hold your gun on the inside it holds a scream
On the inside of me it holds lost hopes and dreams
Are they really lost or am I tryna be someone I’m not
To prove the definition of a boss
In the end I know it’s wrong and I have to pay the cost
Do the time and take my loss
Take my time to think
Wash my thoughts like my hands in a sink.

Travel Through the Mic

Through this microphone,
You hear different things,
different people, different voices
that paint various scenes.
You take what you’re thinking,
And send it through the mic.
It’s how you hear my thoughts
And how they make it to your life.
My thoughts may be untold,
I may want you to hear.
A sound from a mic can make you smile,
And also make you fear.
A mic can cause a head nod,
or a mimic sing along.
The mic is a way of travel
for my thoughts that are so strong.
Sometimes it gets hard
going through troubled times,
Sometimes you can cope
by transporting some lines.