Poetry month mic drop

The novice bard doth find it hard to breathe;
his chest doth heave with hopes t’achieve regard.
His feelings guarded, all in th’yard perceive
him to’ve conceiv’d a tale to weave, t’bombard
their ears with song—but something’s wrong tonight.
He’s clamm’d up tight and froz’n with fright; the throng’s
reaction’s strong and doth prolong his plight.
I’ he can’t recite, he’ll never quite belong—
and now, the time for him to rhyme hath pass’d.
He leaves aghast; he’s been miscast—a crime!
He must now climb out of the grime amass’d
until at last his skill’s recast as prime.
When opportunities arise, take heed
and lose thyself in ev’ry worthwhile deed!

Eminem, “Lose Yourself”

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