I’ll make it, cos it’s not an option to break it.
Can’t fake it, I’m takin precautions I won’t shake it.
This hole in me its open, These tokens I’m beholdin’.
Using poetry to choke ’em. Its me possibly hopin’.
This pottery I’m mouldin’, Its not lottery its golden.
The cost of me spoken, Its impossible its broken.
Its got to be I’m certain. My god in me, assurance.
Quit stirrin’, These bourbons you servin’ are tweaked I aint slurpin’.
I’m surfin’ on you serpents I’m peaked but not slurrin’.
My chest is out, this is not a hunch.
Been through a bunch and this time, its crunch.
A hand’s tickin’, he’s designing chance.
Finna grab it like a blind man dying to glance.
-4th Nov 2021 , Jon Lau
ILLiteratepoet 