The End of The Month of Rhyme – I’m Done

Hey, I guess it is my anniversary on WordPress, look at that. What an interesting day to post the results of my attempt to rap for a month.

Well, just the ‘bars’ of said rap. Really, this is just from the last few days. Well, it is more an open poem or something. Okay, enough, here it is.

“I’m Done”

I never had a dream about being the baddest,
Every time I stuck my neck out I’d be wishing I hadn’t,
But i’ve done it enough time to start losing my balance,
Can only get cut so many times before they call me a sadist.

So I’m done, balled up my dreams and tossed them aside,
I’ve dealt with more uncertainty than I could possibly abide.
And While the thought of writing used to bring stars to my eyes,
The only that’s certain now is my career’s suicide.
So here’s the best of me, the last cut, it’s all that you’ll get,
The last time I’ll try to come off as articulate,

I started off trying to emulate greatness, blowing minds like the likes of asimov and Scott Card,
But hard scifi with no sci is like binding isaac, balls hard,
And I’m not a scientist so I could only spit what was on my mind,
Girl struggles and race troubles, from around that time,

So I moved on to capes, cause at least people would read that,
Art is hard when you don’t have any feedback.
I’d port’em into my world, full of angst and fighting back,
Team, and trends, and tones too much to even keep track,

Then I made the dumb choice and I went to school,
Thought a piece of paper would make everyone know I rule,
Instead they read my degree and they call me ‘fool’,
Until they hear my vocabulary, then they call me ‘tool’.

But you can’t quit scratchin’ when you’ve got the itch,
And my degree might leave me scratchin’ by, but I can handle i,
But even a great like Poe was left dead in a ditch,
and I bet if Woolf was broke, they would have called her bitch.

But I’m a grown man, I can admit defeat,
I can barely pay my bills, forget my student fees,
Sure I can pen some purple prose that people don’t need,
But what good’s that do me when you ignorant fools can’t read!
At least something thicker than goosebumps,
Use your two stumps to flick through, and develop that gray lump.

Okay I’m getting mean, and really it’s my fault,
I thought my skills were so tight that winning was my default,
But it turns out wanting to write just ain’t enough, your words get lost among the crowd, you’re a hack before you’re even found.
You need time and money that I don’t got if you even want a shot, so forget it it, I’m done now.

Tried being a writer for a decade, became a better rapper in a month.


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