Truth though:
Your diction lags,
you ain’t got style to that flow,
it’s 2014 and you’re tryin’ to one up Shakespeare,
the beauty of all this is that the rules got broke,
‘n more than ever we’ve got these fires to stoke.
you’re shitty ass poets,
and it ain’t for lack of skill,
just vision.
side-bar Judge?
{granted}
can we strike “ass poets” from the record?
{give me a reason}
*steady look*
stop with them anachronist tendencies to give two fucks about form as anything but a servant of meaning,
look at the looks,
sound the sounds,
taste the words,
push yourself from what you know,
‘n carve a path unfamiliar.
And don’t ever confuse talent for a reason I should accept your bullshit.
Don’t ever think that skill precludes consequence.
Write love songs,
but know they know the lies,
so it ain’t worth the page.
Your diction lags,
you ain’t got style to that flow,
you stutter ‘n quake like you ain’t gonna make it,
but you got bluster kids,
blow ’em over.
