Well, It’s about time I did a write up about myself, been keeping it on the shelf, for way to long, to talk about where I used to belong, don’t worry not going to sound like a religious song, so listen and tag along.

Years ago there was one era, my raps were as smooth as aloe vera, used to free style all the way to sahara, rhyme words used to flow like niagara. But now after so many years, I’m finding it hard to find the right words, it seems like my skill disappears, but happy so say I was one of the pioneers. I’m talking about freestyle rapping through msn, used to battle with one good china man, Willy Kwa’s his name, freestyling was his game, thinking he was in fame, until he heard of Big T’s back to claim, putting him into shame.

My idols are Tupac Shakur, being shot and under parole, still he was under control, coming up with rhymes right from the soul, now he’s burried somewhere in the north pole. He was the one who inspired, the one I admired, but now I have my own style, when I start rapping I can go on for a mile, with a wide smile. With that I name myself the Lyrical Expressive Writer, I write about absolutely anything, whatever idea my mind spring, words continue in a line of linguistic string, even the long gone Martin Luther King.

Do check out my other lyrical expressive writing.

Lyrical Expressive Writer

A poem I wrote some time ago, kinda got bored with it after reading it a few times. Would appreciate your comments.


You are unique with your very own style,
If properly inspired you could go for a mile,
Something so simple could look like a marble tile,
Be patient and you’ll come up with something agile.

The feeling inside can be so intense,
Most of the time, it does not make sense,
Do it right and it will be beautiful,
Make it bright and it will be wonderful.

The toughest part is to make you rhyme,
repeating over and over every single time,
Straight to the point, being very subtle,
Takes ages to think of a title.

I will always spend my time with thee,
No matter which part of the world we may be,
To others you may be plain to see,
but a poem you’ll always be to me,

Thristhan