Tag Archives: thug

Rhyme therapy. Poetic outcry.

Just writing shit. Passing time. Outlashing rhyme.

Is Concrete freedom? Completely completing me?

I feel like I’m depleting…

Too much time… so here I rhyme.

I got a good girl, good world. I’m in love.

Word therapy it’s scaring me cause words release and reveal disparity.

The repressed stress that impales / my chest… I let the rest of my rhymes set sail. 

Every day listening to the rain, it washes pain away.

I want to get up, but it looks like imma do it on a later day.

Now: Trynna bail… out….I fell off.. or fell out… I feel like I’m doing nothing when I’m sitting here alone with my own”self.”…

I’m too used to street tops / we walked the block in reboks / more miles than Enoch / up n down like seasaws.

…then hop trains to the seashore. Drink more. I need more,

Fuck, I bleed for freedom like firey Vietnam napalm. 

I’m going awal.

God Damn I seen it all, drove me up the walls….

No sentiment to what I representing in this moment. Alone, Heckle myself. Jeckle?

Fuck it, Hyde… but wise with pretty eyes.

No doctor could ever calm my storms. Before they’d have to lock up me up to disarm my sword cause I was hardened up in numerous spots, reclusive to the marks n whites. Selling anything up, down. it could be hard n white. Sparks n darkness all around us so I got up n I got a Mic. White boy, the homie in disguise, still I rise, no demise, what? Gutter minded, smooth like butter out the housing projects.. That I would drowse in / n drowning…. in problems no solving it, just dissolve it. Mixing pills w potions in my cup of cauldron burning hottest notions. The Urban junglist psychlobin fungus n coco leaf under my tongue it’s.. MDMA in my nose and it’s disgusting. Welfare Glutton.

Like:Fuck it.

But Im survival against the rival, which is self, close minded to changing my mind, my mind is always shrouded dark clouded in madness to death. Always trying to redesign, redefine, n read in between the lines. Inclining myself refining self and it’s a crucial time.

But…

Now that I’m reclusive.

Introduced to the sobriety. Inducing nothingness including no substance to my mindstate. That was then, this is now …. Now… This is my mindstate… soberly irate. Am I trying to find me? Do these words serve a purpose? I think I make people nervous. I’m unafraid. I was the underage murderous on the curb sip serve swerving it or serving it.

That then. This is now, now. so true. How I gonna get through this? What am I supposed to do? I’m so new to.

this…

Nina