The Poetry of Kobe Bryant

I think I'll space out the story of my weekend a bit, partly because I want to, and partly because I want to. Here is a picture of George Herbert Walker Bush:

Meanwhile, I recently read an article about how Kobe Bryant is aloof and has never been particularly friendly with any of his teammates. Even on the road, he always opted to be by himself. In his early days in the the NBA, he spent his free ime holed up in his hotel room, writing poetry.

I know. I didn't buy it either, but I did a little investigating, and sure enough, in a metal box buried beneath a porch in Inglewood, I unearthed a sheaf of papers bearing the distinctive handwriting of basketball's most misundestood acquitted rapist (actually, in all fairness, it's probably wrong to keep calling him a rapist after the acquittal). Anyway, to make a tedious prologue mercifully shorter, here are some of the highlights of my big find.

We Played Good Tonight
We played good tonight
but I guess they must have wanted it more
they was hittin' on the perimeter
and doing a good job shutting us down
it took me a little while to get going
but... I don't know
We'll just have to play harder tomorrow

Ode to Del Harris
Del Harris, Del Harris, how the wind whispers Del Harris
there's no magic night in Paris that could stir me like you do
oh you tuly are the fairest, sweet Del Harris, sweet Del Harris
and while perhaps it should embarass me I must declare my love for you

Del Harris

Fuck You, Kurt Rambis
So they call you Rambo, huh?
Think that makes you pretty tough?
Think you all better than Del Harris or something?
Bitch.

My Vagina
My vagina
yes, my VAGINA
is not just some delicate flower
for you
to pity
and fear
It is not some
bleeding wound
that I
like all my sisters
must suffer for the sin
of being woman
it is less than me
it is more than my essence
it is of me
and of itself
Please, Shaquille O'Neal,
won't you fill it up?