Write here.

I do not like green eggs and ham. I do not like them, Sam-I-Am.
(This was the very first poem I’d ever heard.)

Man I promise, she’s so self conscious
She has no idea what she’s doing in college
That major that she majored in don’t make no money
But she won’t drop out, her parents will look at her funny
Now, tell me that ain’t insecure
The concept of school seems so secure
Sophomore three years aint picked a career
She like fuck it, I’ll just stay down here and do hair
Cause that’s enough money to buy her a few pairs of new Airs
Cause her baby daddy don’t really care
She’s so precious with the peer pressure
Couldn’t afford a car so she named her daughter Alexus
She had hair so long that it looked like weave
Then she cut it all off now she look like Eve
And she be dealing with some issues that you can’t believe
Single black female addicted to retail and well
(And this … The first spoken word poem I fell in love with.)

*I belong to those strange and self-absobred poets that could careless about what anyone thinks. It’s my poetry and for the life of me, it really doesn’t matter if one understands it or not. Yes, at some point one could twist a metaphorical connotation out a few of my beautifully crafted eccentric lines, but trust me, it’s not that big of a deal.
Poetry to me are the words that won’t fit in my personal essays, or that just don’t belong in my sports columns, or that never found a place amongst my short stories. Poetry is my safe haven; a home away from home and when people try and to come in my world of poetry and make it there own, I want to say, NO! You can’t do that. It belongs to me. I’ve already given the people articles, columns and what not, but my poetry belongs to me, only me.