The skill to pen a perfect letter

I always wished I had the skill to pen a perfect letter,

Vibrations on the mic suit me better,

clover clubs seeds spade empowerment and pleasure,

they told me success is a bitch,

I never met her,

I once was similar to type,

that would step up on the mic,

to talk about what could be,

like ambitions of small gratitude from the physical,

I mislayed the Scripture that portrayed the ritual,

mixing what I saw and what I thought I should give to you,

maybe it’d be something that would stick with you,

to think about in a way that I didn’t do,

all about the vocal inflection,

eyeballs gripping you,

Funny how much stuff we didn’t listen to,

Stuck watching glorified confetti light poster projects missing glue,

Minds eyes find the prize in the visual,

and forged lord’s sword for the formidable literal,