I’m a thief just a peg lower than Robin,
donning a hood Issa Kabbah never unveiled.
Poaching feelings across minds and giving them wings.
Letting them fly to the welcoming hands of estranged lovers
to use as weapons,
in status’ shade wars.
Subliminal yet direct.
Quotes coated in Quixote bravery
But then what are we if not mercenaries?
A La God, Allah Messengers to the masses.
What of those in homes whose only solace reside in our words,
and in these moments feel connected to a larger hive that understands the deep pits of depression that internet clout chasers skim over.
We give you passion.
We dish you joy.
And mash your wins to look back on the L’s you took that left you shook.
Of beautiful sunsets and wild romance.
Discreet flings and getting turned down in love at your first advance
In denial of the face of pain and shedding Nile long tears,
and losing loved ones in this mortal world.
We stand by you with all the memories.
For we are dealers.
We peddle and walk the corners of your lives.
We deal in feelings.
The real trap lords, WordBangers.
So when next you see me and remark.
‘You don’t look like a poet’
I’ll smile and reply,
‘What do human feelings look like’?