spoken word becoming who you should be

Digital Imprint

Old world politics reversing hands of time,

A backward destination to when domination was not lost,

With limited information, tick the correct box,

Nothing is as dangerous as an opinion formed in asphalt.


Hammer away at the subconscious,

Let sleeping morals die,

Create a panic to silence an uprising;

Using children as a shield for ignorant lies,

Dial a fear to deliver a repression,

What is cornered can only hit back harder,

We are not passive; we are the temperate of men.


A war in the background of digital distractions,

The winner is the oppressor, the hand cast in gold,

Pay for the bail, then no crime was committed,

Never a rich man wore a noose like an heirloom:

Wicked indulgence passes the priest’s hand with silver.


A confession makes an obscenity a right,

Mechanical error in the beating of a heart;

Strangers spit poison, are we on our own, or an occult?

The fence divides, but it offers protection,

To sit, and ponder; to blame, and claim,

No right to an opinion, the guilty remain.


The illusion of the loyalty of slavery,

Truth is an adversary dressed in cheap clothing.

The age of enlightenment became overshadowed by reality TV,

Creation began to burrow, the death of self-control.


No love lost on splintered shores,

Ignorance buries its head,

While creation dies, greed and hunger prosper:

Futile are the ones who never believed to dream.




Absolutely mental chicken oriental

This is the beat of a stutterin heart
Played on a six string electric harp
This is the pen that's mightier than swords
This is the working class outsmartin the lords
This is an old wave cresting a new beach
This is the tramp with a perfect set of teeth
This is the chatterbox with nothing to say
And this is the tourist who knows the way
I'm all original never need to copy
Just calm down love and breathe slowly
I'm using old words in new ways
And I'm always twisting what I mean to say

This is a dichtomy. juxtaposition at its finest
You have never seen words flow like this
And I still have time to stop
And slow
And drop
Into a new rhyme and flow
That you couldn't hope to follow
This is beyond mere lyrical contents
Its now become a kind of concept
But maybe like scroobius pip you say f**k all that nonsense

It won't get me down you should see the company that I'm hanging around
I got the hands of a healer and I'm curing them all of this writing fever
They don't write for the heart or try to be funny
They're all in it for the fame the name and the money
But not me, my name is still a pseudonym
and my writing is another hidden gem
I'm writing for an audience of one
Not for friends or family not even my mum
I may be a harsh critic but I'm not overly critical
I think this splurge of words is nothing short of a miracle
This isn't rap nor poetry
there no words to describe the spoken word flow-a-tree...
And though I don't always get it right
That's fine I still sleep peacefully at night

That's all I'm asking
That you don't let the oppurtunity go passing
Write what you want when you want
Type out your essays in a new font
Jump as high as you can all of the time
If you want it make it all "mine"
Dance without music bop without a beat
Kiss her fast and long with phenomonal heat
Do what you can to REALLY live this life
You won't get the chance to do it twice.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Wrore this today after deciding to stop writing so much depressing crap

The title is what a women on the street was saying into her phone just as I finished the poem. Which made me laugh

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