Iambic Pentameter

Listen to the draft recording here


Loved to write but wasn’t good at poetry

Its easy to overlook what I know in what you see

Because I never really paid attention, I sleep

when they tried to teach me The fine technicalities

Its okay though I still wrote great, when I couldn’t I faked it

Found my place in the deepest part of a sea of misogyny and racists

And if I don’t break even, there’s always that monster in me I’ll wake it

I tell ‘em pray that you never have the white privilege to face it

Nigger, I jump the gates without my nigger card, yes

When I spit a bar they swivel hard and break their own necks

And if they try to bar I’ll take it far and make a threat “you’re next”

I could hedge my bets on that roulette, my ass was in poor debt

Tried to show them my creds but it weren’t from the streets

And I couldn’t freestyle on the spot, I choked to the beat

“your ass is weak” they told me, and I said “hey, peace!”

While sneaking a couple of rounds into a clip in my piece

I never went unprepared again, put more practice in my pairs

I smuggled in to speak hiding a cheat between my cheeks

And when I got onto stage I was like “mic check, yeah”

I realized I was outclassed and my vision became blurry

My flow was like the stammer of a frantic amateur

My mind was bogged by the different rhyme styles

Because what is an iambic pentameter?

I had to google it to find out.


Everything’s an option but nothing is a choice

Especially when it comes to aborting the usage of my voice

The tutor was annoyed, he said “just give up, boy

Here’s your money back before my hearing gets destroyed.”

“What happened?” I screamed to myself I was sad

I couldn’t understand why I sounded so bad

Personified my speaking skills as a lost and found lad

With a mutilated body you had a live dissection to the end

As you lay down dying I sent life threats to your death bed

Knowing you won’t come back but I wanted you resurrected

Check it, breath into the microphone, sounded like a sexist

Spoke in a mild tone and realized I was affected

By a setup, you took my past time and turned it into something greater

Now I can’t write copy without concealing metaphors

Put symbolisms in my letters, appropriating registers

But I still couldn’t quite freestyle so I read out of my lyrics paper.

The crowd gasped and cracked up the judges passed a glance

“You didn’t memorize your piece?” Ain’t nobaddy got time for that

I’m a poet, I’m a writer, what I do is make scripture

I don’t rehearse and I don’t give a fuck if I wasn’t the first to turn

Around the losing situation by cocking back the burst

I had prepared, the verses I was about to loud shout

Maybe everything had come to this, it might be an ass of hurt

For you, killing you softly with a smooth strangling cowl of sound

And even though I refined and sanitized my literature

There was still just one question left now.

Because what is an iambic pentameter?

I still have to google it to find out.

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