To I

How could a poem make a man lose his mind?

On the streets they’re losing it,

Turn around look at I, head-turner and say;

You’re losing it.

Siince I began to write poems I’ve gained so much ground.

They now all look at me and mimic words from a Tupac song,

And hate on me because I told them I love them so much more.

I don’t care if you have you eyes sat on an iron or ore,

I don’t care if you feel I’m an outlaw,

All I know is that I abide by my country’s rules,

All I know is I have a boss who loves me dearly.

Predictions are predictions.

To me they’re like repititions which scares a whole lot of you.

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