Why Do I Do What I Do?

Why is it the more I try to change the more things stay the same?
Why do all the poems I try to write sound so trite and lame?

Please tell me why. Cuz I don't have a clue.
Why, oh why, do I do what I do?


Really? Why do I do what I do? Why do I do everything that I do?

Why is it I can think deeply on a plethora of topics...
Why is it that can love & appreciate the skill and cleverness of dope lyrics...
Why is it I can take your average song & make it better...

But when it comes to writing my own song/rap/poem I struggle to put two lines together?
Why do I always seem to have start off with someone elses idea & flow?
And then I just change the words to "make it" my own. I don't know!

It seems like the only times I write anything worth reading or repeating
Are the rare times the words seem to pour out from within.
It's like a fountain deep within my soul.
I can't even the fathom the fathoms of it's depth.

And then it's GONE !!!

In the blink of an eye...
Quick as a jackrabbit...

...It up and vanishes like a fart in the wind.

I dig deep to again find the source.
But it eludes me like peace in the middle east.

But I keep digging until my body is tired and aches
Exhausted and still finding nothing I collapse.
Was the torrent of a river just a mental mistake?
Was it really real? Or did my grip on reality temporaily lapse?

Why did I have to go so far? Push myself to the brink?
My words stand before me in black & white, paper & ink.
The testify to the truth, that the spring buried deep in my soul,
Won't ever run dry, and the fiery passion can't grow cold.

But it's only when I'm broken that I can be truly made whole.
Liquid lava of love flows out from within to fill the hole.

When the truth DOES come out...
When I share it from a stage...
When I try to get you to measure... my love.

My love for the words
My love for the truth
When you try to measure my love in numbers of course you won't get it.

So don't throw up 10's or 9's the next time pour my soul into a microphone so it doesn't go to my head.
Don't throw up 8's or 7's the next you see my heart beating on the floor because it's not deep enough to hold it.
In fact don't give me any numbers... Instead give me your heart in return.

Why do what I do?
It's not for the numbers,
But so I can share my heart with you.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Hi Duffman, there's something there in this poem. Right in second person or their person. Perhaps, detaching yourself from something you are so passionate about, would add more style to the poetry. You must have read my poem, SOS. Here, I try being detached from the topic of discussion.


Later days
Take care
Kind Regards