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This girl told me I'm not poetic.
And I don't understand why.
Maybe because I don't have long dreads
Ripped jeans, old revolutionary T-shirt with a vest.
Or or, maybe because I'm not a brotha with a full beard
360 waves, and no cross around my neck.
You know, the ones who talk like thissssss
And and, says deep stuff like thatttttt.
But what she doesn't understand is
Those deep words
Are meant to dive deep inside her
Mind, her heart her soul and grab hold
Tight! Real tight!
And pull a deeper
Almost prophetic understanding about the man that stands before her.
But I'm not a poet,
Why?
Is it because I don't use alliterations
Like, Love's longing lover is Lust
Lost in translation.
Lamenting over the lies
Do you feel, my frustration?
Are you seeing, my il-Lust-ration?
But I'm not a poet,
Why?
Maybe she wants a metaphor
Like, she's the sun and I'm the moon
Consumed by darkness, the earthlings admire my sight
But we both know I'm just a reflection off of her, light.
And the moon brings stability, but the sun births life
So that makes us a match made in the heavens for sure.
So there should never be a question on what I, met-a-phor.
But I'm not a poet,
Why?
Is it because I don't use flashy words
Completely devoid of meaning, to make you feel a certain way?
Like the boy who waits on the porch every Saturday
Because his father said on Tuesday
That he'll call on Thursday
To arrange a time on Saturday to pick him up to play.
So at 9 a.m. that boy sits
Until 5 p.m. when his mom calls him
And just like that last situation
Those other poets will leave you waiting
On a change that'll never come.
Yet you call these other men poets because, they
Say nice things and
Sell beautiful dreams
Without the realization that none of those dreams are even about you.
But I'm not a poet,
Let me stop.
She told me they're poets because they make her feel a new, certain kind of way.
And if that be the case
I'll let the test of time preside
As judge over their crimes
I mean lies
Or whatver.
And when that time has passed I'll ask then again love,
Do you still feel, that new certain kind of way?
But hey, what do I know?
I'm not a poet.
