This page is my page.
Read it and use
your mind not your eye.
Tell me how it moves you,
how it sticks to your shoes
with the blues,
how it makes you cry
out loud in a crowded room.
This poem's got some thoughts behind
you should take time to find.
This is my page and this is my mic.
Got one hand on my clit when I write.
And I'm down on my knees tonight,
to love and fuck and spit and guide you.
Do you feel this inside you?
Can I make this come when I do
without it choking in my throat?
I don't like poets cheap sleaze for fat scores
Won't line women up on stage like whores.
But is my poem braver than yours?
What will you give for this public masturbation?
A six point nine or a standing ovation?
This is my mic and this is my stage.
Sometimes my poems are brighter than brave.
But I wanna tell you about how I misbehave and I fight.
There's been an execution tonight.
Cos like the vote some folks died for this light.
Ken Saro Wiwa hung tight.
Mikey Smith got beaten down.
Some other, somewhere, somehow.
Am I feelin the rage? LORD right.
So I'm takin the stage tonight
This is your page and your stage and your mic.
Are you feeling the love tonight?
Are you feeling the words tonight?
Can you feel what you've heard tonight?
Are you raising your voice tonight?
Well if you've got this (heart)
Then you've gotta use this (voice)
Because this page, this stage, this mic, this world
got room for your
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