Wordless

It's been too long since I've written something.
As I jot my opening line I feel a rhythm coming. I'm back in my element, these raps have been heaven sent. Exhibiting penmanship with spectacular elegance in an attempt to capture my excellence. I'll humble myself. I wrote about the storms and thunder I felt, and told my mom her son wanted help. Now I've recovered my health. I slightly hate every verse that I write now. Struggling through my thoughts in every verse that I write down. It's been a while since I finished a rhyme, I've been having trouble finishing lines. Extracting everything that's been on my mind. Shuffling for a sentence to find, getting comfortable cause my pen is divine. A little effort and focus and I can lecture the lowest. And let them know the rise is coming cause we're destined to know this. I'm just chasing my destiny. I tried to cook but lost sight of the recipe. I learned to only eat with the people who want the best for me. My life took a bit of a turn, and it's been stressing me. Stacking bread by planting the seeds like a sesame while wondering what's next for me. The man above keeps blessing me as life continues testing me.

I guess I write better when I don't think. Clear eyes, full heart and I won't blink. I'm so fly I wrote this while watching the air show. A couple classics to record, can't wait until you hear those. Writing it before I've got the beat, I've got a weird flow. Awkwardly delivered but it's something you can feel though. I fell in love with the pen. Once upon a time the love was intense, but now I'm coming up with nothing again. I'm trying to keep up as my thoughts are running again. It's putting a strain on me to give a hundred percent. So you're witnessing half of me, a lyrical catastrophe. Still bodying verses, this is the anatomy. I break it down and tear it apart. Dismembering these words as I'm unclear where to start. Chronically armed to do bodily harm, yet I'm giving life like a shot in the arm. My pen is an IV, it's never poisonous. Bold, brash and boisterous.  The voice for the voiceless, sick as choiceless appointments. Like church bells, this noise is anointed. Lyrical leg work, as I fiddle my pen first. A breath of fresh air. I break it down, I mince words.

Lately I'm having run-ins with reality. The sky's the limit, I'm tryna defy gravity as I write happily, another mind masterpiece. Writer's block's been shackling, life has kinda tackled me. I play the beat and then I open my notepad
That was irrelevant don't even know why I wrote that. I'm wasting lines between space in time. Feeling trapped inside this space of my mine, trying to pace my mind. I remember when I used to spit the greatest rhymes. I think I've still got it just gotta take my time. I remember when I used to lie and say I'm fine, look to God and pray for signs. And it seems like no direction is working, you've tried several. The lil homies that used to look up to you eye level and you really want to follow your heart but your mind meddles. So I focus on this lyrical dope that my mind peddles. The rose that grew from the concrete with divine petals and I told so many stories the flow's got like 9 levels. Pondering my life in thoughts while conquering my writer's block. I don't really know what to say, so I'll just write and talk. My confidence is shaken by the time that this has taken. I remember when writing a rhyme was second nature. Now I struggle through verses, I'm a recovering wordsmith. And it's feeling like until I am recovered I'm worthless.