I I slam because I’m me
And I’m me therefore I slam
If you don’t get it I understand
I’ll try and explain it as best as I can
I’m not an artist
That is plain to see
If I’ve had a rough day
I can’t simply find a pen and sketch a tree
I’m not a gamer either
This isn’t something new
Hand-eye coordination
Just isn’t my forte too
The first poem I recall
Is a famous one
I’m sure you’ve heard it too
It’s the one about the color of roses
And it mentions violets too
I was told it doesn’t have to rhyme
And that it don’t have to be true
So if I’m ever feeling blue
I pick up my book and simply write what I’m going through
It can be happy and merry
Or dramatic and scary
Make you roll on the floor in hysterics
Or be filled with innuendos to make your brain tick
But whatever it is
I’ve always believed
My poem should be a mirror
That reflects a small portion of me