I've got mental reflexes, backed by my tongue's dexterity

And deep poet's eyes making you sit and listen to my ability

I'm not the only one who possesses a black belt in Kung Fu Poetry

I've seen others with fast-flying metaphors as precise as surgery

There are poets with verbal kicks and whooshing childhood backflips

They have prose like a deadly ballet seeping through their well-trained lips

I've been wounded in adjective battles of exploding expletives

But, I got back up, bleeding and rattling off why this Poetic Dragon still lives

I take out my pen and paper and use them together like Nunchucks

Blinding you with flashy thoughts making you go, "What the fuck?!"

My hands move like a Cobra, striking out after every enunciation

I'm solid in my stance using mental Chi to attack the mind with new innovations

I'll evince new emotion like a Tiger Balm lotion to relax you into complacency

And knock you back into emotional free fall with a sudden attack of intensity

You'll have to capture each syllable on a freeze frame camera to see my skill

Because my concepts are bigger than Gamera and at least twice the thrill

My mind's focused on the thought of conveying my next thought to you

And my body's obeying by gesticulating each of those thoughts through

I've prepared for this moment through a lifetime of hard training

And now feel confident in the skills I've spent this life on attaining

I've put on my silken Gi, covered with badges of past pain

And stride the streets free confidently in my balanced poetic reign.

-David "Dingo" Bleecher