Petrified

I’m slowly learning that I’m not a poet just because I rhyme.
I didn’t even know it, what a shock to find out that
I couldn’t go toe to toe with you while you were sick
and I was in my prime.
I used to think this flow was sick,
now I see it flows as smooth as muck or grime.
Sand paper oozing from a twisted mind
into riffs and lines. Tales of tiffs, spliffs
and shit I did for dimes.
Poor and blind, trying to stumble on what I pine.
Not that there’s something that I seek,
It’s dreams the meek are pleased to find.
Right now I just need some wine.
A temporary fill for a void that cries out
from the insides of a boy that’s lied,
a boy despised.
A boy that needs a mission to fulfill,
to spill over new found riches to all he’s left behind.
I’ve said it before, now shame makes me hide.
You should still blame me though, even long after I’ve died.
What am I?