**DISCLAIMER**: This is ABSOLUTELY NOT directed at anyone! It is meant to be comedic prose poetry.
GET YO CLUTTER OUT MY PEANUT BUTTER
Good evening ladies, gents, other, girls, boys, they, Daddies, Mistresses, It, Subs, Doms, Your Holiness, Professor, Marianne, We, Us, They, High Priestesses, Sirens and all the collected bounty of the Sea Men.
This here be a little sumpin
to tell ya'll why
Well, a good writer, they might motha fuckin
BORROW
A goddamn great writer, well that foo
STEAL
But the Best motha fuckin writers?
Well their dope asses
APPROPRIATE
That's write, cracka! Steal my shit!
Sup deep of Culture,
AND SING!
And no tantrums, no fits!
So, Always remember:
Getcho clutter
out my Peanut Butter
Getcho Slutty Thing
off my Wedding Ring
Getcho fake drama
out my dot-dot-dot-comma
To rephrase my sentimen-,
so that you might understand my boundaries
and give due respect to em.
Hoe. Do you have a Hoe?
Because I find Gardening
very mothafuckin cathartic,
you know?
Any damn ways, I digress and shit.
So, let us clearly communicate
and validate
all those personal feelings
you fuckin goin through,
to wit, I must inform you,
I most certainly can relate.
You see, I know that the universal
I in motha fuckin I
in you, doth praise
that motha fuckin light in me, girl.
Which I must again, and forever more
Tell you, bitch! That shit is hot as fuck.
So, once mo:
Getcho clutter
out my Peanut Butter
Getcho Slutty Thing
on my Kinky Fling
Getcho fake drama
off my Dali Lama
It ain't no thing,
Just keep yo bitch ass Heart
CLEAN
And free of all attachment
Waiting to stick again
to some otha being.
