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Backup by Kichwatah

I stand firm in my quest like Johny,

Beating my chest, sipping crest I’m out-zoning.


I compose myself and also my pieces,

Writing like my stuff is ironed, no creases.


I have no brakes on this writing pad,

Poetically mature, other ones call me their poem dad.


I’m full of passion like the soda, I’m fantastic!

Never sleeping on my craft, I guess I’m crafty.


Writing is the air in my lungs when I breathe out,

Poetry is the venom in my fangs, even when I pout.


I bite every microphone infecting the masses with snap syndrome,

Now their fingers have blisters because I’m deep like wisdom.


Classic move, the passionate poet has done it again,

Now read this going up and tell me I’m not gifted with this pen.

Excerpt from July 2017 Poetry Contest 


Are you a poet? If you answered yes, that’s good. Do you want to make money with your pen? If you answered yes again, that’s even better. For submission guidelines, click here to Enter into this competition now and make money writing poetry

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