Ms. Mess Poem by Andre Bradford

There she goes, Ms. Mess
a swagger so mean
hips, thigs, legs, and breasts
but when i compliment her beauty
shes never impressed
sayin there's more to her
and stop lookin at her chest

well, ok Ms. Mess
I wanna get to know you
hold your hands
and show you
that I wanna know whats in ya mind
and help take up some of your free time

But Ms. Mess aint that deep
she's a sister that just roams the streets
flautin to brothers
and puttin them in heat
when i approached like a man
her interest didnt peak

Ms. Mess
why cant a college educated man
who aint a thug
but sweet
ever sweep you off your feet

and Ms Mess
why do u diss me on
my flow
i thought it was you
who said thugs are a no
well i was never in no way thuggish
keep the streets word in the streets
and my poems get published

but ms mess likes the dudes
that sit on the crates in the street
four chicken wings and fried rice
is all they eat
they not movin on or progressin
but over them
shes always stressin

as usual im left in the dark
sisters leave the brothas with the potential
and the sparks
you hated on me when i discussed ya swagger
but when its time for 4 play
which part do u go after
and Ms. Mess
understand that i was attracted by ya flow
but it was always the real you
that i wanted to know

so in conclusion
ms mess
i apologize for starin at them hips, thigs, legs, and chests
cuz in reality your just a mess