PaD 58/365: Poetic License

You are so great,

You really are;

The problem is,

Words only go so far.

So it's lucky, I'd say,

That right in my wallet

I carry what's called my Poetic License,

Something every poet must get!

It may not be a license to kill,

But it's a license to create,

It's a license to rhyme,

A license to write sing-songy debate.

I got this license for you, you see,

For often the words only exist in my head.

“You make me wanna make shit up,”

Is what a wise Angel once said.

So before I continue, here's my license,

Along with two forms of ID,

I've got my electric bill with current address

And a birth certificate, all to prove I'm me.

You are fantabulousness, uber-exceptionalism,

Awesometastic to the extreme, rocker of all you do,

Beautifulnicity, super delicious individualisticness,

You are.... The one word I didn't make up: YOU.