My Poetry

My poetry is like a fine mist,
  The verses caress like a tender kiss,
But when I drop ink with a twist of my wrist,
    I spit mad bars because I get pissed.

Here’s the gist of it,
   I slip the quip in there,
It’s whatever comes up to the surface whenever the spirit moves me,
If there’s a lisp in it,
   It’s my speech impediment,
I breathe fire because aside from the ire writing also behooves me.

My verses are a mix of history and mystery,
    A puzzle of lost pieces with imagery,
Whatever sounds clever I pull the lever and let the words flow,
My thoughts tend to get stuck at the dam,
    If there be floods I’ll be damned,
I’m playful yet a little unstable but I’m careful not to let it show.

And so if I had to sum up my poetry,
   I’d say it’s a reflection of me,
A twister of emotions filtered, tuned, groomed and rhymed,
I’m not always at my best,
    But I get it off my chest,
So long as the words are ready, steady, primed and perfectly timed.