Some people seek an easy life, but I’ve got eyes on a steeper climb. Grateful I can easily survive, but I strive to achieve and shine. Writing schemes to beats I like is a chance to release the beast inside. I can’t have peace of mind, unless I give a piece of mine. Got excuses, reasons why I shouldn’t succeed in life. Wired weird, got ASD and my processing speed leaves me behind in the rat race. I’ve been inclined to retreat and adopt a defeatist mind. It doesn’t relieve, esteem just dies. Truth is, all I need is time to reach my prime, you’d be surprised by what you can achieve through grind. Dome’s too slow to freestyle rhymes, but I know I can read and write. So, if I read to feed my mind then listen to emcees speak in time to instrumentals, I assemble and invent thoughts to be described. I studiously revise ‘cause I try to be precise. I assess the flow to keep it tight, and edit it if I need to slice syllable count to be concise, so I have adequate breathing time. I think like a lightbulb because I’m most switched on at three at night. I write then repeat my lines until the entire piece resides in head, ready to be applied with delivery that’s really sublime. Why spend my energy supply trying to effortlessly recite? It doesn’t monetarily provide and will likely never, to be polite. That’s negativity’s advice. It’s demons trying a cerebral heist, to make me doubt and feel like improving’s futile to even try. Noodle was too weak to find the fuel needed to defeat this line of thought keeping me confined, without true ability realised. Was half-hearted, now armoured like Spartans or medieval knights. I refuse to be defined by what peeps presumptuously surmise. Atheist, I don’t believe in christ. But got faith in the schemes I write, because I religiously refine skills to build expertise on mics. Need to fulfill this dream of mine, ‘cause it helps me see the light during times misery decides to strike and knock me off my grind. I can either flee or fight. Rhyme’s the weapon I need to smite these anxieties making me pick flight. I’m now equipped to equalise the score between me and my thoughts that thwart and seize my drive. Decided I’ll never cease to rhyme. I’m a rapper, identity’s assigned. Got potential. If I settle, then mediocrity’s the prize, and I’ll be spiritually deprived. So you can’t make me resign. When burnt out and deceased inside, rhyme revives and reignites the fire required to make things transpire. I blow steam respiring heat with ice. Hottest and coldest emcee alive. Got the tenacity to thrive utilising tragedy prescribed. Losing’s how victory’s derived. Despite barely receiving hype, compared to those in the limelight, I recognise I’ve made leaps and strides. So progress can’t be denied. Destined to eventually arrive. This’ll be my means of life before I see the reaper’s scythe. Some may say my dream’s a pipe. Got two choices, either I quit this, feel sorry and cry or stand and face fear’s eyes. It’s confront or comfortably decline.