Freestyle 2

This poem is late coming, but I got on it
Let's get straight humming like a hot sonnet
Where the rhymes at -- the mic's all mine
Scary times for a cat on life number nine
Overmedicated, so I don't have long
Hope I get it straight, not stoned and wrong
Fog-brain don't remember where the spark is
Hot pain's dismemberin' my carcass

Drowning out the magic - the 'Jackson flair'
Down and out, tragic and black down there
The hand with the quill is  rough and sore
And the ganja and pills ain't enough no more
I'm stuck urr'day, in mad, addled patience
But fuck, do I pray to man the battle stations
Believe me, folks -- I'm as pissed as y'all
But weebles wobble -- they ain't built to fall

- J.

freestyle 1

when it STARTed I was ONly thirTEEN, and
called reTARDed by some FOLKS who were MEAN, and
in the GARBage went my BROKen esTEEM, and
left to DARKen aLONE with my SCREAMin'

coulda lost my MIND
    coulda let it unWIND
       maybe turn out FINE
            maybe ColumBINE
but I kept my HEAD
    no matta what they SAID
        didn't end up DEAD
            wrote it down inSTEAD

every RHYME I HEARD, I'd be SCRAWLin'
pure SLIME at FIRST, just apPALLin'
gave it TIME, pretty WORDS from me FALLin'
ain't a CRIME, pretty BIRDS -- just my CALLin'