Penemue

They say, of us poets  
We're a quirky bunch    
Always got a notebook    
Jotting shit down    
      
I've heard, Poets live to write    
The smell of lead and ink    
Gives them a high    
     
She said, she fell in love    
With a poet hopelessly and couldn’t understand    
Why he wrote obsessively    
Yet his feelings,    
He never shred      
     
He said,    
I heard a poetess spit    
She hit me with some of that      
erotic shit    
Her voice was sultry, word play was sick    
Had him visualizing after every line she dropped    
Left the club that night    
Holding his swollen cock    
     
They say, we poets    
Keep our shit to ourselves    
We are private    
with    
Our thoughts    
We don’t know how to express using ourselves    
I’ve even heard, that sometimes    
 We’re too blunt we don’t consider people’s feelings”    
(Insert eye roll)    
When making our point    
     
I say, we poets    
Are the proverbial truth    
We express the oppression    
That gets misconstrued    
We speak for the voiceless    
We cry for the sins    
We show the world    
What they try to hide    
Within    
     
We poets are the    
Penemue    
Teachers of the old text    
We rewrite history    
The desire to scribe is innate    
and    
I say, what they say of poets…    
Ain’t nothing but hate