HipHop (He Is)

It begins with a boom, bang bang, tap
tap and it had me at hello, versatile
verses spit form the soul, free forming
a flow that changes up with the tempo.

Tap tap bang, internal metaphor leaves
minds connecting and disconnecting,
moving and reforming thoughts
like puzzle pieces, the display

is rugged, a little image altering to
appeal to the streets, the beats boom
boom with the beats of my heart. Hard,
can’t hardly contain phrases of adoration

for what I am and what I can’t be, making
me appreciate the feeling. Alone, but
surrounded by sensual pleasures of the
pulse on my skin, aurally bombarded

by similes like a moth to a flame, like
water to the dry, like words to the deaf,
like me to you. It makes no sense but
it makes cents, put your all out for little

income, unless you go mainstream, but
from that river flows change, dupli-city,
difference. The boom gets bigger, they
tap tap more, and my heart only feels

the bang. The metaphor becomes money,
sex, and weed, or about moving keys, not
to the tunes of songs in A minor so the
song cries for more, but I can’t see it

coming down your eyes, and as it grows
and becomes known, it loses its soul,
obsession for more hoes, and clothes,
and gold, and things, and bling and

a stronger desire to be seen and sets the
scene for the masses, but what about
the fans, the lyrically driven not the
bass boom motivated, the intent listeners

of the double entendre, not the ones who
fall in line with the times. New flavor
only goes so far, the bass only booms
so hard before the speaker blows,

your chain can only hang so low
before you trip and hit the floor
and who you are has become
someone that I don’t know.