POEM

Alternative rap, psychological hip-hop, cinematic soul, electronic dub, raw male vocals

+ Show full styles

STUDIO

I wrote this poem in hopes to revive a dying art. Perhaps these words will intubate, ventilate, and resuscitate poetry without documentation of a DNR.

Shut up, you idiot. You have no clue what you’re doing. You’re such a weirdo. You’re robbing your family of good opportunity.

Sorry about that. Sometimes I hear voices. They crowd in, they press, and they turn whispers into loud things I’m never supposed to tell. So, back to the poem.

I’m certified to deliver alphabetical surgery, taking each letter individually and placing it perfectly. Pronunciating perception. Delivering sincerity. Turning dreams into reality one word at a time.

Just shut your mouth. You sorry excuse for a father. Nobody respects you. Nobody likes your poetry. Why do you bother? You’re a genius?

You’re smart?

Your thoughts are tearing your family apart.

Why don’t you be quiet? Me, a sorry excuse? You’re just an awful habit trying to become an addiction, a whiny worry begging for attention. This is who I am. This is what I do. There’s nothing I’m afraid to mention.

Oh yeah? Mr. Humble himself? You’ve got everyone fooled. You’re a fool fooling fools. They don’t care. They should’ve stayed home. They’d rather smoke crack.

You don’t know me. I’ll put you out of my mind as fast as I let you show me wrongful growth to disown me.

You know what’s worse than you being a murse? The fact that your worth is the worst display of life since the moment your dead mother gave birth.

Stop. That is enough.

You demented, demonic, offensive, deceitful, fraudulent, fake, phony imposter. How dare you disguise my eyes with falsified projections? Stand there in silence while I speak.

I am that I am. A boy. A man. Feminine. Masculine. A self-master ministering creativity. Visionary anonymity. Provision for enemies sent to me, beating me, being me, deceiving me, defeating me.

I am infinity. My infantry comes fully equipped. Words as bullets. Loaded clips. Hammer cocked. Tongue flips. Knowledge pulling triggers to remove ignorance.

No tricks. No gimmicks. No disguise. Only truth.

I am that I am.
A boy, a man.
No tricks, no gimmicks.
No disguise, only truth.

Where are you now? The voice of imagery. Weak aggression. False authority.

My life is dedicated to living, not surviving. Doing, not trying. Crying. Feeling rain. Playing in puddles without an umbrella. Taking bites of life made from mud pies. Getting it day by day. Getting by to get by.

The voice got quiet.
The poem remained.

Poem? Ha ha ha ha!!!

Original lyrics by THOUGHTAHOLIC (@d13ov04). 
Sound and production by THOUGHTAHOLIC & TENGÜRA.

2790/7500

I wrote this poem in hopes to revive a dying art. Perhaps these words will intubate, ventilate, and resuscitate poetry without documentation of a DNR. Shut up, you idiot. You have no clue what you’re doing. You’re such a weirdo. You’re robbing your family of good opportunity. Sorry about that. Sometimes I hear voices. They crowd in, they press, and they turn whispers into loud things I’m never supposed to tell. So, back to the poem. I’m certified to deliver alphabetical surgery, taking each letter individually and placing it perfectly. Pronunciating perception. Delivering sincerity. Turning dreams into reality one word at a time. Just shut your mouth. You sorry excuse for a father. Nobody respects you. Nobody likes your poetry. Why do you bother? You’re a genius? You’re smart? Your thoughts are tearing your family apart. Why don’t you be quiet? Me, a sorry excuse? You’re just an awful habit trying to become an addiction, a whiny worry begging for attention. This is who I am. This is what I do. There’s nothing I’m afraid to mention. Oh yeah? Mr. Humble himself? You’ve got everyone fooled. You’re a fool fooling fools. They don’t care. They should’ve stayed home. They’d rather smoke crack. You don’t know me. I’ll put you out of my mind as fast as I let you show me wrongful growth to disown me. You know what’s worse than you being a murse? The fact that your worth is the worst display of life since the moment your dead mother gave birth. Stop. That is enough. You demented, demonic, offensive, deceitful, fraudulent, fake, phony imposter. How dare you disguise my eyes with falsified projections? Stand there in silence while I speak. I am that I am. A boy. A man. Feminine. Masculine. A self-master ministering creativity. Visionary anonymity. Provision for enemies sent to me, beating me, being me, deceiving me, defeating me. I am infinity. My infantry comes fully equipped. Words as bullets. Loaded clips. Hammer cocked. Tongue flips. Knowledge pulling triggers to remove ignorance. No tricks. No gimmicks. No disguise. Only truth. I am that I am. A boy, a man. No tricks, no gimmicks. No disguise, only truth. I am that I am. A boy, a man. No tricks, no gimmicks. No disguise, only truth. Where are you now? The voice of imagery. Weak aggression. False authority. My life is dedicated to living, not surviving. Doing, not trying. Crying. Feeling rain. Playing in puddles without an umbrella. Taking bites of life made from mud pies. Getting it day by day. Getting by to get by. The voice got quiet. The poem remained. The voice got quiet. The poem remained. Poem? Ha ha ha ha!!! Original lyrics by THOUGHTAHOLIC (@d13ov04). Sound and production by THOUGHTAHOLIC & TENGÜRA. © 2026 THOUGHTAHOLIC & TENGÜRA | An Indiana-Istanbul collaboration.

0/500