*Had to remove the pacifier for this one….*

Ma, I’m newborn to this,
So with my menu I sit,
I ordered an apology,
if I
rhyme less than ‘Sick’

I’m still tryna label my condition,
“Suave” seems fitting
Leaving Prose pages
with ‘leave ins’
no need for rinsing
let it.. soak in my head
to release knotted thinking
combing through each line to
feel understandings…

So simple and real,
Id walk 3 times harder
If I had a third of your appeal
A single smile leaks the ‘shark’ in your feel
Only then,
Oceans gets thick
So they appear to steer spears
Toward the great Moby ‘Sick’

(No one remembers who threw the dam stick)

so take this
as my bow to a great,
only chick Id probably let

‘spit in my face’

and, savor the taste,
just to hope to inject
half of your grace
A GOD birthed by mortals like
Half of a great

Ya shoulda been born with two
Large testicles
To snatch up and smirk
For those that tested you,
Yet, that would make you

…less than incredible…

so you where born with breasts
that fed lines so credible

The milk fed the ‘Kraft’ the

Poetically intolerant found

Edible…

Its curdled

*in their souls*

hallucinating visuals of

*Sick pictures told*

finally understanding the

*infectious Prose*

Benjamin Button bits

Ya came in with knowledge that

Never got old…

For sharing the gift

Im forever grateful…


And for this???

You make me sick…