Seeking jazz or sex or soup
I step into this human loop
to find what I was looking for
A bed, a break, a gentle whore.
To ease my deep and tortured soul
Slide up and down my writer's pole
A poet known, you'll be known too
Through smoke, through sex, through me in lieu
Privilege, power, beats me down
Not yours, but mine, my words they drown
So baby come, just you and me
Just suck me off, I'll set you free
For I'm a poet; so raw, so real
And you can't even start to feel
How deep my literature will go
You just too common, just too slow.
Though I have never felt the wains
Of haunting, constant hunger pains.
And I have never shook all night
Feared for life, awake with fright.
And I have never watched my friends
Come to their violent, murdered ends.
And I have never watched my kin
Both starved and killed for my own sin.
No I don't know what tortures like,
Within my privileged, rebel life
And still, I'm deeper yet than you
Despite where all your past winds blew
My depth will leave you all behind
My tortured, haunted poets mind.
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- Agent Jellie
- "Never stop dreaming."
2 comments:
Holy. Shit.
I don't think I've ever seen a better done self-portrait.
"I warn you, I have just started writing again as of camp, so yeah, not a seasoned pro like my sweet little cousin..."
Yeah...right. This was amazing Jessie! Truly, I would not lie. It was beautiful and very catching. The fifth stanza was particularly haunting, like a contrast of self. So don't go singing my praises when I am equally entranced by your own works.
Thank you for looking into my stuff by the way, I do appreciate your interest. Writing is simply who I am, and I suppose few people see it. That's probably why people are surprised when they read what I write, because it doesn't seem to be who "I" am. Anyway, thanks.
Again, beautiful poem.
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