Outcha' League

No, no.

Leave that lady alone.

She is too much for you.

She ain’t for you, boy.

Look at the way them tan, plump legs

Walk that walk.

Look at those pretty, curvy lips

Talking that talk.

No, no.

She is out of your league.

You may be a scriber of

the organism’s emotion—

She may dance like

there is no tomorrow.

But, there is no correlation

between your writing regimen

and her dance routine.

Stay clear from that lady.

You are a simpleton.

She is so much more.

A titanic of greatness.

More like how

Darwin is to Aristotle.

Or Plato to Socrates.

You, sir

Have too much chips on your shoulder.

Shed the weight,

saves you the workout.

Or the pace that you walk

When you climb a new flight

of stairs to write your poetry on.

That lady is out of your league.

You been trying on her for how long?

Since high school, are you nuts?

Man, that was ages ago.

Give it up!