A madman poet, wrote it.

They say a madman poet, wrote it, Called him fantasy prone, delusionary-mind- laced-stoic, Unhinged, upset and thoroughly worked-up, Overwrought, out of touch, and simply just a bit f---ed. Fanatically phonetic, is what he really only was, Undoubtedly a kind-hearted-savant, sprung from up above, Wings spread, legs steady, eyes up, and head strong, Anxiously spitin' impossible verses to vir-tu-o-so-songs. Misunderstood from the start, things said furthest from the truth, "Arrogantly elitist" they countered, to thoroughly try to abuse, His mind, his heart, everything in his f------ being, Walk a day in his shoes, see this dirt this kid used to see, Then we'll see how you handle being poverty stricken, Constantly being evicted, having no one in the kitchen, Only exception was when mom's poppin' pills to have it all ended, Now do you still feel the needed feeling to call me an elitist, If you do, I say f--- you, Im not apologizing for wickedly smarts, Read a book on metaphysics, or Nero-f-------linguistics, Narks, then shut your mouth's, quite up and listen, There's still much to be heard,and class is still being in session, Never planted firm as a kid, loosing most of his roots, Moving year after year, starting fresh and learning anew Shy as f---, head down, and confidently shattered Only now, overcompensating everything he thinks might matter Oh, by the way, distracted, I almost forgot to mention, Regarded as a child prodigy, even with this all happenin', That is, until he moved around, so much, that his focus shifted, To an imaginary world, that he knew couldn't never be lifted Now you have my word, next time, for what ever it's worth, Should I ever feel so inclined, to give another exquisitely birthed, Passionate rhythm & rhyme confession,I'll use a more crafted verse, Until then, I say good night, and leave you all with this, my first.