untitled WIP. . .

The mystery of inequity is buried deep within our prose
When we stand and we talk about things that we don’t know
Like dogs and garden tools, excuse me, I mean bitches and hoes
And we act mean towards our friends, and act kind toward our foes

My absolution for all men is wearing slightly paper thin
I have lost the keys to the kingdom that used to reside within
My creation is folly until I see my purpose and then
I can begin to act on those actions to hopefully better our men

But currently I am lost; I have fallen clear off the stage
And stumbled out onto the streets where lies my inner rage
Waiting for the day, I’m picked up and locked inside a cage
Forever closing the book on me and thus losing the once known page

My insanity has grown to an uncontrollable bulge
I look at human existence and don’t understand our fold
We make mention of righteousness based off stories told
By the Bible, but many of us never revisit our souls

I shutter to think what life would really be like
If instead of picking up a book I had decided to be like Mike
A rich basketball player who’s fallen silent after the game
Which goes to show there’s more to this life than just fortune and fame

We all have a power inside that surges within
If we encourage ourselves we can be more to our family and friends
We must build ourselves first from the anti-matter to our next of kin
Then we’ll all be siblings in the same battle; sisters and brethren