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March to Your Drummer

Please try to wear my shoes
my whole life they’ve tried to light my fuse
so I keep the monster hidden from view
so he can’t hurt you
And I’m sorry my dudes
it’s what we were trained to do
I do it to myself too
Ascended from a bottomless pit
Where all emcees are forced to be legit
Just trying to own what we do
so it can’t own you.

The underground is wise
it’s where i spent some time
my form is south node cappy
but my north node is crabby
So I retreat home to map my soul
around the globe
Some ask who the hell is d.i.s.c.r.e.e.t?
suburban kid on the beat
entrenched in city streets
to teleport my peeps to a sandy beach
because this minuscule leaf
on the universal tree
thinks he knows some things he has to share
ever since my homie became addicted
and bared the rhythmics of his snare.

Filed under: Poetry

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New Leaves on the Old Trees is a collection of poetry about love, war, death, rebirth, healing and transformation. Please feel free to leave any comments or questions. (under construction - thanks for following/liking in interim phase)

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