A Slave to the Rhyme
I’ve been a slave to the rhyme.
Chains of servitude* wasted,
Feigning happiness like a mime street performer.
I fight to be ridden,
Fight to break Mother Goose’s Hip Hop,
I want my skill hidden subliminal.
This isn’t fifth grade,
Where my poems I couldn’t spit,
And my lines spoken like Sling Blade Billy Bob.
Even now I struggle to slow,
Revisions allow a second chance,
That otherwise here would show pop.
Well, now it’s time to break these shackles,
I B-line for the door,
Like a madman letting out a cackle chortle.
I reach my exit free from the evil,
Looking back inward I see the pure,
So from line one to line done, I obey this one last time.
*A chain is an unit of measurement equal to 66 feet.