I Hate Poets

I hate poets, but I am trying hard to become one.
I mean, one day I want to spit fire so hot that people call me Mario.
No. Wait…forget Mario.
You can call me the surgeon because I spit lyrical needles straight into the veins of my listeners
Injecting them with the F.L.U. - future learning and understanding; because to catch what I’m spitting at this moment would be a gift
That’s why they call it the present.

Every time I pick up a pen its like I’m about to perform surgery
When I raise my scalpel to a cadaver, its pulse quickens giving it life
Revealing one throbbing red vein on the left side that pumps blood so fast it spills across in blue lines where I perform each incision so precisely you would swear that my loose leaf was perforated.