You continue life by breathing in oxygen, I do it via spitting verbs.
My white blood cells make up the paper of my written words.
The pen is the umbilical cord that feeds the paper with sustenance.
I never stutter since these words are alive because of my utterance.
So when it is ready to deliver, I am always standing ready
But instead of leaving you, these verses stay where your head be.
I go with the pads like a football player, but its not a game.
Poetry called me from a young age, and I never forgot its name.
Its like when lighting strikes and turns someone into the fighting type.
Because I try to make sure my lines more than live up to the hype.
These words march together, and each words makes all better.
Because even when I breath my last this poetry will live forever.