If this mic was my shield in this battle of words,
If in my sheath was the pen the mighty double edged sword,
If this stage was my battlefield and the audience my army,
If my I were stuck in a corner and the enemy was around me,
If my words were my arrow and my mind their trusty bow,
If my acts were my clothing my battle proud battle gown,
If society was my enemy standing proud on the horizon,
If the fear in me was their rifle and I was right within the strike zone,
Then my performance would be salvation and my piece would be my hero,
And I would watch as my enemy was depleted down to zero,
For my light would cast a shadow and my soul would fly again,
Exercising my right to free expression would make me whole again,
But this mic is not a weapon and this pen is not a sword,
And you sit there not to taunt me but to listen to my every word,
So I will speak the words of wisdom the best way I know how,
And I will sing the song of freedom with no stress on my brow,
So pass the mic to me and maybe I will tell you a bit about myself,
Pass the mic to me and maybe my poetry will express itself.