I was making up poetry in the womb.
Mother says so, and you know what that means:
Nobody’s gonna question it.
And I mean nobody.
She may not get around so fast,
But Mother’s got a way with her tongue
That can lash you within an inch of your life.
That’s probably why I started making
Rhythmic and metaphoric lines
(Rarely, though sometimes with rhymes)
Before I was breathing the stagnant air
Of this external world.
It ain’t always so safe out here.
You gotta have a way to cope.
Part of mine is making up poetry
Just like I did in the womb.
…or how about on Twitter? or Feedly?
music of the muse
Like to leave something in the tip jar?