Freelance

I've carved a creative niche
bitter sweet
difficult to deal with
as I saunter down your street.

My verse is clipped
And NO, I’m not a waitress
my heart beats true
my wits, a tender matrix.

I’ll stay for endless hours
to snap a simple view.
I direct my burning lens
to puke a primary hue.

It may affect your estimation
you see I have a reputation
It requires lots of concentration.
MY degree is in DEDICATION
to MY WORK.

You can’t be caught obscene
with dis drama queen.

Yeah my BAD
I mean
my gear is often stuck in
some balls hairy
places
lacking social graces
with dried egg plaster
embedded in our faces.

I’ll frame
you full of life
smug and satisfied
bare-assed naked
soaked
in all your lies.

SNAP DAT!

I am an artistic dish
itching
to generate, maybe palpitate
because I can imagine
you was once a gift, your mama’s boy
her pride and joy
intact, a sap-- JAIL-BAIT
that wouldn’t DREAM of being late
or make me wait
full of phony excuses
foul abuses
to face the boozers
sucking users
that refuses, to make the right choices
to grow, their WIRED VOICES.

WHY?

cause nothing shoots better
than living in your car.

And because I work for da STAR
you know.

Yeah-- I’m Mitch
and one dizzy bitch
what’s it to you?
YOU—standing there solid
in your dirty J. Crew.


And I am an artiste!

Won’t you be my candid shot
and play wit me some more?

Maybe later we can pan and zoom
by the corner candy store.

Because my lens is in your face
so shut the FUCK UP
don't dis me in MY SPACE.


I’ll just keep you AWHILE
What was your name, KYLE?
just turn yea sweet cheeks to da left
And babes, give me a big SMILE!!

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