The Backup Band of My Soul

There is really no rhythm to this poem or slam-ability, but there is still something I really like about it:

The solo of my soul is provided by the sweet song of some strung out hip hop hippy girl
Her grill gleaming in the green of my emerald heart.
My misguided steps make her voice fall apart

The lesbian twins of my contorted stomach sing backup in melodic circles taking turns with the harmony, always there to catch their twist and drop in rhyme
Their perfect pitch keeps me in line.
My soul delicious
Impossible to define.

Drop beats
Turn this garage band into Prima Donna  
You can do this
Cue the music. 

The mellow undertones of the drums bring the beat back
Put me back on a straight path
And the spotlight drops on a girl.
Young, beautiful, Snow White features.
Arms flailing, fingers barely big enough to grab drumsticks
Licks her lips
Takes a glimpse at the crowd
She knows she can handle this.

She is brave, wise beyond her years
Her eyes swell with tears

This is no longer a dress rehearsal for an audience of two
In the audience is you
You close your eyes
And let the the music wash over your memory.

Arising from the looped chorus of our creation
A voice booming from each speaker
A surround sound sure to make your ear drums swell
Your sickness well
You to hear the music
Stop the nuisance
Become the sound
That is me.

See I can sing the humility out of any man when I’m alone
But I rock worlds to islands
Leave the strongest crying
Make that flutter in your heart turn into convulsions
Bring phat flows of fancy with that drop from percussion

I can make you dance
Put the beauty back into your step, into me, into the world

When the backup band of my soul 

Plays center stage to this girl.