Tag Archives: Ego

Battle of the badger (52/5)

 

honey badger

From Africa to Afghanistan,
Nepal to the Caspian
King without a crown
You wont get close enough to fashion it
I am… the honey badger
Sugar Ray when I jab you
Matter of fact, to you, I’m more like Muhammad
I make lions tumble when I fumble
Turn a paw fight into a royal rumble
Cheetahs play fair and hyenas start to grumble
Do you like those apples?
I prefer cobra crumble.
Take crowns for fun, I’m the true king of the jungle
See my bite ignites night night
Predators are left penniless when I fight
Ask yourself am I worth it if a left claw’s going to read out your last rites
I’m the only species of the genus Mellivora
I’m like a scorned woman with a hot head, qualified as a divorce lawyer.
I can take anything while I take out everything
My thick skin should be applauded, rewarded.
Who else on sight forces a mission aborted?
I’ll extract confessions heck, I’ll win the war if…you feed me
Keep me sweet and it’ll all be easy
Violence is a way of life, there’s only peace when I’m eating
Did they tell you I’m less of a badger, more of a weasel?
I’ll paint a town red with you if you try to Green street me
Territorial army, although that doesn’t matter ..friends?
I have none
I have love, I have me
Yes I’m always hungry
I’m always hunting
Outdoor king, I can climb trees and swim,
Michael Phelps of the jungle
I’m the baddest mammal alive and I ain’t fronting!
Though sometmes we just crash, into each other, just so we can feel….something
One cub, from one love
The one isn’t all I need but.. it would be nice
For now.. I’ll bob and weave, take life knowing I’ll never grieve
Never take sweetness for weakness
I was born blind but after life…you’ll see

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La La

Lost and alone

Dog with a bone

The reflection has shaken me

Stirring my mojo into a molotov

I burn with indecision

 

Happy moments stolen like penny sweets

What am I buying?

Finding fallacies in forever

Planning orchards, cursing thorns

Am I alive until the death of a rose?

 

Turbulence framed as trivial recruiting

Meteoric melancholia manifests

Poker handshakes and chess kisses

Clandestine hope in bloom resides

Indifference wrestling lasts another round

 

Lost and alone in deeper waters

The tide of good fortune is in

Chewing all that rests before me

Standing to ponder the scale of my win

 

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Beyond the Valentine

Before it starts… the excuse
Like losing the war in Afghanistan to the Taliban
Claiming job done and pulling the troops
Before it starts… the excuse
Like changing the locks based on the entertainment news
Or dying your hair claiming you’re giving life to new roots
Or claiming you’re broke so they could pay more dues
Or painting a mood so you could rage at their blues
Claim their hanging with their friends to much it’d be a shame to lose
Out
However it starts….the excuse
The white lies and dark truths that
Litter your cerebellum with a new stinging addendum
February the 14th is coming and it’s the day you’re going to end on
So you warm up your tendons
Check your fast twitch fibres
Hide the lock pick and put your podium up higher, for you
Are number one
They are not worthy
Someone like you they’ll sing but of Adele’s CD, they’re not worthy
Usher can let it burn me you think, for I am the game
Rip my lips off the rose and take my breath away
Club this seal to the grave and dance
This is your romance
A joust without a lance
A night without a fable just an excuse on the table that
February the 15th will be like new years day cause
This termite
Stalactite had you static right?
If they liked it then there’d be a ring on it
But for a kiss you already want to think on it
And 2 weeks can lead to 5 minutes and 1 digit
Can lead to 9 months and 18 years and then
Half of everything
But however it starts…the excuse
You’ve got to come clean and take a bow
Sometime
Beyond the valentine

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beat again

My tongue’s tip flicks, flinches and convulses around melodic pulses

I gnaw at the beat root, energising my ions for the time of the spinning pulsar

Under the wings of doves and vultures I find riffs, licks and bricks of tongues

See I draw with my lungs because I breathe through the paper

I read my blueprint in red because my ribs caged her

Engaged the light like a mannequin clothed in logos and brands

Dismembering logical progressions because my perfection is inflection

Flawed excellence grounded in the moment of inspection

In junction, I reflect on conjecture like a medusa concerned for the health of her snakes

While I find my mete to raise the stakes a Medusa will pant evil for eons

Seeing promotion to lady of the lake I sold my Medusa self reflection and made her my pantheons first level

But that was merely shaping my wood with a Junior bevel and I needed flames

Even with a cold flow life ain’t cool runnings just because you’re at the winter games

Even if you share the status of your King James

Who dares frames so take a picture of a pun

Cos all I be is, a theist conceived by the drum

Received by the hum,

And still my tongues tip flips flash licks and straddles lexical prisms

To break my heart would mean long division so I sleep with my art for kicks

Rocks like statutes of New York liberties still standing I look good with the nicks

Rising like offspring of the Phoenix not needing canned-heat from the suns

As the Stan of standards in stanzas as I read I become living ecstasy

The pen was never purposed as an X to be, so while I live, there will be no full stop

So while I live, there will be no full stop

While I live, when my lid goes pop and my ink leaves to reign with the clouds staining like tar

Know that my beat root has seed to and you’ve just been blessed by the rhythmic harvest of my spinning pulsar

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Sorry

I’m sorry that I can simplify your insecurity complex

Even though your convex hips and curves give me dreamy nerves

My endings, my cables be rendering you as my Anna of the Green Gables

I’ve got a light bulb and a spanner

Clothes shopping with you would give me more smiles than a town planner given their own island, but I’m sorry

That you wobble more than your wobbly bits even though I think you’re curvy luscious, voluptuous and tight

Even though I show you Love Jones and recite A Blues for Nina like I was your Brotha to the night

I make you wish I was white and I’m sorry

Sorry that I’m just not swag enough

Ghetto black enough,

Want to hit it but not smack you tough

Gym rat, thank you and bang you gruff

Proper English, multi-level conversation but not slang enough

Just not African, just not Yardie

More Laurel & Hardy than Gyptian and Marley

Vibing like Fugee La in our Shangri la with Hugh Masakela

Seem I’m only on your radar for my niceness,

I’m not Osiris, you’re not Isis, a great catch but not a virus

I wrote my values on papyrus, so after the file is ingested

Know that I’m sorry that you’re just not interested

You took out me out with the insurance claim that you were interested,

So I means tested and found you cared to give me a little time without your mind or true get to know you time invested

Body banging like African Drums but once the lust was digested

The connection stung and felt like a rat infested hornets nest its

Like you’re being pestered with the bug of too good to be true

Like a hair dresser to uncle Fester your head you need to rake through

Notions of sweetness, meanness, the real man bleep test

Oh you’re not a risk taker…I’m sorry

You’re a lover not a faker, I’m sorry you’re just being honest, I’m sorry

I’ve got a bee in my bonnet but a bigger engine to move on from it

So I’m Sorry

 

I write a love letter to the beat because I really, really be

Sorry

Sorry that I’m the just next just trying to break a hex

You’re so vex like T-Rex because of your ex so to you I’m Mr Poetic X

Buck wild instead of bucking the trend

Good company and sex hoping the cycle will end

Screw it Buck it I’m sorry

Thought you were a diamond mine, you’re a neglected quarry

Sorry, sorry I’m really sorry

I can be the lorry that hits you from the blindside

Takes you off the road have you singing when we collide

Biffy Clyro

Instead you’d rather play Spyro

Showing a little flame while you play your game and shake your Ting Tings

That’s not my middle name,

21 seconds and you’re out for fame another notch called a Victory

Smoke without fire this story really isn’t Hickory Dickory

Jackanory cock story,

Pop that booty, lock me off and ride to glory while I cry poor me

See I’m richer for the experience, exposing your interest as desperate or delirious

I’m not really weary it’s just that my truth is always serious

I’m passionately clear because I romance in deed, I really want to need but because of want I bleed

So I’m sorry

 

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Static Selector

She said I was like water like Sister Lauryn

This ecstasy was from a foreign land as she lent her hand to hold mine

Yet she had me in two minds

Communicating between the lines of US and we

But it was the OR steering me to invite a conclusion

Clear confusion cos I had spent the year being the hunter

Gassed up at feeling shunted

Gassed up at feeling like she made me the hunted

Like she could be oxygen for my hydrogen

Wondering if the truth was the truth or was Dwele right again

Yeah Dwele was right again call me the Christmas mistletoe

Mulled wine, puppies and knitwear,

My heart pretended it didn’t care until my poetic prophet penned its inevitable sonnet

So I killed her with my honesty till she confessed in our dying breath

I thought you were what I wanted

 

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World is Yours

We need Common Sense to bring common sense to our common sense and let common tenths our personality multiply the honest tenets of our realities.

See emancipating rather than eviscerating ourselves of our fragility puts the sense in sensibility enabling us to take responsibility for our own competence and confidence level.

It’s never better the devil when seeking inner angels, revelling in ranges of rages endangering our brains because we alone couldn’t silence the alarm bells of our own insecurity.

Death is the only surety but we refuse to die the death of accountability so while others cry and keep rising we drink Riesling and listen to Ron Isley’s tales of love as we lust after the person we want to be but never initiate that intimacy.

We pretend we comprehend the routes of ascension, latch on to others who mention direction and get an ego erection till they screw our senses with our own driver and leave us with the pretension that we really are somebody when really…we have a body and sell our souls for attention and don’t even get paid for the intercourse.

It’d a rape of the inner courts except we are the ones who make it consensual, conning our senses till we’re numb, dumb or senseless. Rules of thumb exist so you never get fingered.

Sensations linger like nettles that sting you yet if you can’t acknowledge your weeds then don’t except another to tend your garden. Only a fake rose or a dead one gets pinned to a garment so what are you?

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