I'm a donation to this planet, earth.
Yet to get the clue from any mankind since birth,
Why the world finds the process rigged and rugged conceiving me.
My spirit in a world of it's own beholds me sitting on top of the world figuratively.
This present world though ain't ready for that instance to be made literally.
I'm a gem, charity to earth from heaven.
My endowment and features flies far above the Raven.
Reality check,
I was supposed to be authorizing a world of my own, a Sceptre control.
Why in my body and soul I can perceive I'm unappreciated?
Give me my flowers while I'm still breathing so I can coddle them to combat the cold.
I loathe that Mohbad category, this world can really freeze it's conscience cold.
It is confused with sycophant scorpions, Anti-hypocricy eyes glaring them so bold.
I'm a poet, playwright, story writer songwriter and a rapper.
Done all I can to hold for ransom a likkle attention on a wrapper.
I won't stop though for no dream raider,
Silence: sleeping on a gift alone is raiding it of it's value.
I'll pile on the pressure on the competition of achieves.
I just wrote this to jerk back the universe from it's snoring on me.
I'm a gift, please utilize me.
The saying "Your best friend is yourself", is vivid,
Cos I perceive my spirit imagining me on top of the world sitting.