When I write, I am basically talking to myself,
Out aloud for all to see.
I talk with an authority,
But in fact, I am telling myself mostly.
Its a schizophrenic dialogue,
A Self conversing with a Self.
A lyrical concoction,
An inferno of alchemy.
Words can be dynamo,
The metamorphosis of the metastasis.
The written aphrodisiac,
A poetic rap.
Contradictions layered upon contradictions,
Non-sensical but seductive nonetheless.
Fruitful, but risky,
Experimental with no guarantee.
Find the limits of the tongue,
Wrap it around, play with the end.
Make a new shape,
Spit and churn.
Until it turns,
Do a 360.
Now your spinning,
The fun begins.
And then, all around.
I did not come here to play it safe,
I came here to find my rightful place.
I am not a caterpillar on the ground,
I’m a ballistic butterfly that cannot be held down.