The beats in my head are dancing.
Listen up cause truer words were never spoken.
The beats in my head are banging together pots and pans,
The angels laughing, the devils dance.
I wish I was more open, someone told me my head chakra is
And that’s why I think like this.
Someone said I had a rainbow aura. I was happy that meant I was different.
Which I am glad I am who I am, and write like this.
Cause you, you are a baloney sandwich, and I am a Montecristo with Swiss.
You made a Cameo, Word Up, I am Prince.
Not like Machiavelli, the Prince, not as smart as that.
But you are the level playing field, and I lay flat.
And I am ok with that.
I am a pyramid, 3D dimensional, deranged one day, the next day running lights with no directional.
Some days, heady, some days light. Some days I am day, Some days I am night.
But I know wherever I go, my mind it likes to fight,
Maybe it will say something to you, about me, about you, about us, and only one will be a lie.
My devils dance in rhythm, in syncopation with the angels.
I rest my piece, with dehydrated masturbation, the mind likes to play games sometimes.
My brain is a cop car, and inside the driver is divvying up white lines,
And my mentality is paint-by-number, or dot by dot, with aborted pick up signs.
And I am ok with that, Knowing I will never be your Prince, or Machiavelli,
I will be the poet with the thermostat, and you will be near me, but wont see me.
And I will hear you laugh from the other room,
And I will go home alone.
And that is my life. Without you. But then my mind is a microphone.
And we won’t be reserving a seat for two, in this next grandstand, flashdance
We will never hold hand to hand, in brim and ash, and I guess I am cool with that.
And I will never be a rapper, I don’t rap; and I don’t use semicolon’s correctly.
Too much of a poet to be a rapper, and too low on the totem to be celebrity.
And too far away for you to lie next to me.
In fantasy. Ill Mentality. Maybe. A penny for this monstrosity, a lobotomy would be nice
But I am too awesome lately.
So I will be a writer in a minute, a minute man when I finish, and lonely and together,
A misfit with no mistress.
Jason Wright is the editor and founder of Oddball Magazine. His column appears weekly.