I don't feel like writing today
But I'll write anyway because how else can I get good?
Sitting around waiting for a poem to slap me upside my head
It don't work, least not for me
Guess it's like a car: you don't jump in, jet sixty miles an hour
Got to warm it up, let it breathe, I mean...
If you wanna make love to your woman who you haven't seen for three weeks
Cuz you was in Los Angeles doing rewrites on this script you never should've done in the first place
But you overextended yourself putting on a show
Loaning n***as money you ain't even know
Can't pay the IRS fifty grand you owe
So you who*e yourself out writing coon show #75 for some big corporation
Then you step through the door, smell the rice and beans and that cocoa bu*ter sh** she puts in her dreads
And you grab her, start ripping off her clothes as she says "Easy, baby, take it slow"
But you go berzerk
Because of the frustration, all the a** kissing and booty licking which you should have been doing for her
And it pisses you off and you want her so bad as the pant legs of the pajamas you bought her for Christmas are down 'round her ankles
Then you bend her, flex her, finally thrust
And she's not wet
And you're so hard
And it hurts
And she screams
And suddenly you realize you're nothing more than a rapist who writes
Which is why I write when I don't feel like writing
Because I might find out sh** about myself I never ever knew