Poetry is read how it’s felt.  It’s not read to any beat, but the beat of your soul, of your life, of your heart, of your passion.  It’s read to the beat of the drum of your mind, every time the same with a different moment.  Not meant to change, you just turned the page, extended your mind’s the pen’s range, release the beast from the cage.  Shout it out for all your fucking pent up rage, for every moment, every time you couldn’t maintain, for all the sunny days that should’ve brought rain, for all the pain–plain and simply I just couldn’t refrain–hold up, let me take a hit off this maryjane–okay, now what was I sayin’?  Oh yeah, about the times I was going insane, like when your brains going to that elevated domain.  It’s a strain on your mind and a lift to your spirit, you’re told every single truth when you don’t want to hear, but don’t fear it, feel it–take a deep breathe and relax.  Listen to a few underground hip-hop tracks and just trust it, you’ll never fall through the cracks, these the moments that you learn divine spiritual facts, define the spot that your level is supposed to be at, but don’t worry, I won’t make you talk about that, because this depth is a level that you certainly lack.