I am a poet

I am a poet
no ins and outs about it
I am a manipulator of words
A conqueror of verses
I paint my world on paper
and live my life through ink
I am a poet
I spit similes so sick
I could mack you with my metaphor
test my skills if you want to
I’ll be happy to oblige you
This is my gift
Blessed am I
am I is
this
so I is
I so am
I am a poet

His Heartbeat

White boy headed southbound
On a blue train
With the blue seats
Singing beat box
On beat street
In his beat boy mind
This man
Imitates my motherland
Tribal marks on his face
And adorned of the wild
Horn stretched ears and rhythm dripping from his being
Dreadlock sings
Drums like
The ivory coast
Like my people
Like him got me runnin’ through his veins
Got drums, got sounds, got voices
Got a beat
 In his soul
Strange to the eye
Yet familiar to the heart
White boy headed southbound
Playing homeland
On my heartstrings
My brother
I feel you brother