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.

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*A chain is an unit of measurement equal to 66 feet.

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-Jamie (@GuyOnAWire)