My senior year was the beginning of it all.
I never knew Oneil would be my poetic fall.
Well, no. I lie. It was more like my rise.
You see, I hated it all. I thought it my demise.
But, oh! How I was wrong, for three people showed me
How I could write poetry with such crazy glee!
Kassie, Weng, and Oneil were full of poetic thought.
My god, and I just thought I was not.
There was this concept that Oneil had made.
Poetry Friday. God, it was like getting laid.
We wrote like mad men with crazy rhyme
Just to pass all the boring class time.
Man, it was a shit ton of fun,
But some just wanted a gun.
I think it's an acquired taste
To write poetry with such haste.
Through the year, though, I didn't write much,
Because, Jesus Christ, I felt this rush.
Plus, I wanted to be the best,
And that's just the test.
See, poetry isn't about all that shit.
It's about sayin' your damned two bits.
What can you do with our language in meter?
Or maybe you like poetry in a theater?
Regardless, it's everywhere.
It adds a certain flare.
But now, I've made it to the end
And made so many new friends.
I won't forget them or any day
When poetry reigned. I'll say,
"Were you here when Jack read Twat?
I mean, damn, it was pretty hot."
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