Your words fall flat, like a paper bird,
Failing to soar with truth and worth.
A cheap imitation of what's already been,
Beneath you lies a talent unseen.
Your rhymes are brittle, a fragile facade,
Displaying a lack of depth and heart.
Mocking the masters, attempting to hold,
But truth be told, your skills are old.
You mirror a mold that's already broken,
A sad imitation of what's already spoken.
It's time to find your own unique voice,
Or forever live in the shadows, with no poise.
©jamielong
J