Unemployed, reinvented
Have no other choice while incarcerated
I started out trying to live the best life
But all I got was a sharp knife
It cuts and it bleeds through the skin
All the nerves are dead within
It can't stop me
Won't hold me down
I've got a brand new invention
I'm the 8th floor poet in this town
I have no anger to share
because this world need more of us to care
I make no apologies for my word
The world knows I gotta be heard
I live on the 8th floor of this estate
But we all live on the ground to this date
...so what's the story about my poetry?
just some licks and kicks written by me.
I take my time and I do it well
I dump my garbage out and endure the same smell.
I got my wool sweater and my pink wristband
I've got callused blisters on my left hand.
A product of rosin, tape, and bowling balls
kicks, burns, scrapes and 10 foot falls.
I can't get a job but I'm more than a stat
I just sit and breath on my yoga mat.
I might be livin' a suit but I was born free
just rockin' to Third Eye Blind and Rodney Yee.
Got a brand new soul, my heart is light
I live in Worcester, Mass-I don't swing to the right.
I might just be the poet on the 8th floor
right now, I am nothing less and nothing more.
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