I saw the tree yesterday
and it told me that your poetry was wack
that you couldn’t even attack a sack
full of thumbtacks cause you’re too
scared of having a boo boo
your poetry is doo doo while my
poetry can attract any guy or girl
no it’s not a lie why would I ever lie?
When my hair is starting to curl that’s
when you know the fire is starting to burn–
Yo, keep it going. Please.
your poetry is feces you cant meet me
cause I’m a metaphysical lyrical criminal
i bounce consonants with vigilance
i mince words like garlic and innocence