Hang on, this'll get rough.
Just a rough draft of a poem I've been working on. Comment. Or don't.
Hip-Hop and Hard Rock:
The two brothers who couldn’t stand each other
So they left swollen, purple
charlie-horse forget-me-nots
on the other’s shoulder
when Mom wasn’t looking.
Both are rooted in underground movements.
Both had to fight for their own survival.
Both were once illegal to be played in public.
Both made it to the main stream,
and both suffered because of it.
The same person who listens to
Soulja Boy & Little John
exclusively for the beat
Is the same person who listens to
Warrent & White Snake
for the guitar solo.
Honestly Hip-Hop,
you could learn so much from your older brother’s mistakes.
Yours was a violent and messy puberty.
L.A. still has the scars across her face
from when you popped store fronts like pimples,
your growth spurt was so sudden
that you still look awkward and off-balance
when you C-Walk by.
Your legs haven’t grown into your feet
and your feet haven’t caught up with your lungs
and your eyes haven’t grown into your lips
and your lips haven’t caught up with your tongues
The ones that hung masochistic synonyms
trading women for tricks
and love with hittin’ it.
Binging on blind idolatry
like you were the first one to do so.
Just ask Jimmy Hendrix,
Janice Joplin,
and Elvis
what success in excess will get you.
But sometimes,
in a country who’s musical sweet tooth is partial to
Bazooka Joe & Brittany Spears,
Whiskey & Weed
are the only way to wash the taste of bubble gum
from your mouth.
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