Language Video (MV)

When I was young, I wrote poems all the time
And every line I wrote, I would end it with a rhyme
The pen was mine to find, mighty fine, I obliged
I could make things and find the truth in every lie
I was on top of my game development
But couldn't break the simpler themes that I'd inject
Extensively and intensively, I would subject
My family to my lines, thinking I might be the next
Hot thing like Shel Silverstein or cool like Robert Frost
Started hearing J. Ivy and thought he was a boss
Still looking for the end of the sidewalk, I was lost
Couldn't emulate any styles that I had taught
Myself to gravitate to, I would rather make stupid
Little poems, acting like no one relates to
How many times did I try to sound profound?
And how many lines did I write before I...?
Started to incorporate melody with my words
And hell would be what you heard, with steep learning curves
And yet, I had the nerve to get some verve
And spit solemn soliloquies like 'making my fool my purse'
It made me cooler to work with, discovering purpose
And seeing how the music took shape was always worth it
So then I'd go on hiatuses of sorts, looking for more
And stop writing cause of trying to settle the score
Battled with some things, the themes are antiquated
I'd quit honing my craft, the seat was abdicated
I would come back to write, my pen dilapidated
Completely unaware of all the words that awaited
Umm, took some one-on-one poetry lessons
And any thought of skill that I had became lessened
I didn't understand the metaphoric expressions
So I felt jaded every time we ended a session
I'm speaking through an obsession, a congruent procession
Cause any chance that I'd get, I'd pursue the profession
Of writing punchlines, something like a punch in the gut
Cause I grew out of poetry into a musical rut
After neglecting the words and focusing on the sound,
I started to realize the lyrics needed to be rewound
And started writing for the imagery, internal rhymes, and metaphors
Couldn't Face Books, now I walk through Meta doors
When I was young, I wrote poems all the time
And I've come full circle, as far as I can tell you
And I don't quite know what the future will hold
But I'm grateful for language, about time I extolled, yeah!
Whoo
Whoo