My Word, My Breath

These words i cease to follow,
These words that sound borrowed,
They come in a rather reserved way
Of showing their intentions
But never intend to be understood.
This chain of lexicon luxury,
That follows no literature rules,
That letter, that phrase,
That verse that no good reader would wanna taste.
My word, my thought, a speech not so local,
My talk, my intellect, a convo not so vocal

My tongue repects what my mind delivers,
It spits the wisdom hidden in stupidity,
Too rare,
Not the spit of rap, as one would think
But the spit through ink.

I dont suffocate my vocab to death,
Trying to keep myself from being judged,
But instead I take a deep poetic breath
And blow my mind with a clean wrath.
My word, my choice, my tense, my verbal dance.
Watched, but never understood,
It aint clear, it aint that good
But it speaks what it sees as true

My word, My Breath
A respiration not so bad