DANCING WITH MY TONGUE
I'm not a poet
But I will try
Fry, and lay down some thoughts of mine
I'm not a poet yes until the day poetry called my line
Ahead of time, I started merely by writing down the problems that obsessed me
Maybe this is why I become articulated in the consequences of my being
For writing has been a marvelous striking
Through a pro and cons journey that is worth celebrating
A journey that made me the best being of feeling
I mean, I became the master of my own tongue
By plainly paying attention to every word I sound
Like, walking in the mud while it's raining
Consciously paying attention attentively to every step like these thoughts written with my lips
Yet I'm not a poet you see
Alternatively, the monarch of my idiom
Or maybe, the ruler of my sodium
In contrast; I'm not a poet you see, rather; the master of my tongue
For I can dance with my tongue rhyming, swinging from thought to thought
Like, words transforming emotions into feeling in an alchemist lab
I mean, ike neurons connecting metaphysically with one's genes
Or maybe like a gardener cutting the dead leaves
I'm not a poet you see, preferably; the Master of my Tongue.
POEM
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