This is another revision of the Antoine Dodson poem I posted some time back.
Gallivanting through the streets on a dark clear night,
a single streak of moonlight
led me to the lone tower in Lincoln Park.
Climbing the tangled grape vine
I sneaked through the bare window.
She was lying on the bed, fragile as a flower,
her skin smooth as cinnamon butter.
Her aroma enticing me, I drew close
reaching to snatch her silk dark hair.
Holding it in my hands, dreaming of the bliss awaiting me
I stripped my garments, and leaped towards her.
She struggled. She shrieked, vilifying to the devil.
The du-raged homeboy dashed in,
his immaculate armor and embellished teeth,
disturbing the sacredness of the subject before me.
He pulled hid jagged scythe,
ignorant of his waiting fame
swinging his only weapon into thin air.
I ran for my life,
leaving my bliss, my garments, my identity.
The media flowed in,
the du-raged homeboy rapped his flamboyant warning,
hide your wives, hide your kids, hide your husbands.
His rant earned him a crown, a castle, an enchanted life.
I lay hidden as he appeared in the magic box
I watched him,
he called me the bed-intruder,
he called me a dimwitted rapist.
I await the day,
The day he will realize,
I’m the savior that moved his lone tower.
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