PoemsBrowse PoemsSlamsFresh DropEchoes
LearnWriting TipsPoetry TermsPoets & ArtistsBooksFor Teachers
ExplorePoetry GenomePoem MapEchoesTake ActionGroups
AboutWrite a PoemDonateSign UpLog In

Chicken Soup


I’m just bein honest, so don’t shoot the messenger
I thought we were beyond this, body slam, The Wrestler
I'm mickey rourke in court for the fortieth time,
"you’re nothing but a whorey-ish girl in her prime", woah
let’s just take a time out and sort it out in our minds
it’ll always be a struggle climbin' the thorniest vines
primordial grime, I know it seems like I'm tryin' to block your shine
but I’m just tryin' to find mine, one dime at a time

line after line, self-medicated petulant child,
I got a range of emotions, spanning from spicy to mild
I’m Julia Child, cookin and servin' truth by the pile
I could go the full mile if i could muster up the guile
I’m a recluse, I haven’t gotten wild in a while,
you’re a caboose, careening off the tracks and crashing,
it takes two to tango but we monster mashing,
you always got new threads, I can’t be bothered with fashion,

my passion lies in words, beats, keys, and guitars,
humans are star bellied sneetches, some don’t have stars upon thars
they always tryin' to divide us, like "you from venus or mars?"
two sides of the same coin, cabrini-green, lincoln park
man fuck that bullshit, we all the same
unwilling participants in this fucked up game
killing articulates, feeling so ashamed
7 bil on this planet, you’re not alone, go out and play

©All Rights Reserved

Something wrong with this poem?

Share

Replies are closed for this poem.

Arabella Figg

View all poems →

Your Poem's Voice

See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.

Comments (0)

No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.

Log in to leave a comment.