Window into the soul.
The whispering wind
Drives me close
To my goal.
Written the word
Tattoed Time on my wrist
And its all about time.
I know I wield a pen.
Its powerful as a beast.
I win, I lose
But I never accept defeat.
Call me defeatist
You take away my muse.
I refuse it.
Music of mind.
Inspired in heightened
What rhymes with Awareness, Miss?
Ask the Princess, Prince?
Ask the Witness, Mitch.
I am aware, read a book by OSHO
Every Thursday we discuss it.
We talk about living in sleep
And how to rise above it.
And man I feel good, the rhythm
It’s a biscuit
Baking in the oven
Smelling good up in the kitchen.
Butter it up, but don’t bullshit me
Try to give me a label.
Labels never fit me.
You give me a diagnosis
I take it and dissect it.
Make it smaller, more tangible
A little bit lesser, then the lessened
Try to empower and remove the negative.
Power of positivity, numb me like a sedative.
Music hits me in my numbers, touchdown Tom Brady.
Not even listening to a song right now.
Just melody in my ingrained membrane.
And I rock this shit,
Till the time on my wrist, shifts
Moves the ink.
Cause I rock this shit
And don’t need a seal of approval.
When I write like I don’t give a fuck.
Then I don’t know why you still do.
I haven’t got a need for publications.
I know I am the bestist.
Modest as ever.
Eat poets like you for breakfast.
Jason Wright is the editor and founder of Oddball Magazine. His column appears weekly.
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