“They say blood is thicker than water. Maybe that’s why we battle our own with more energy and gusto than we would ever expend on strangers.”
I’ve laid down my shields
My flesh my father has pierced with his sword, I am his biggest enemy
Yet he tells me he loves me
A civil war, battle of the fittest, whatever you wanna call it
Im losing
His tactics are Rome like
Charging in phalanx formation, he has 300 lies, and they all pierce me
Grazing my ear, I think I’ve been hit
I think he makes me cry, but tells me to shutup, don’t show it, be a man, have some pride
But its killing me inside
Lauryn Hill kills softly, my dad kills quickly and swiftly
Body blows and hits to the skull, and rattles my mind and leaves me in a coma
Paralyzed from the heart down, he leaves me empty
Our battle field is dark and gloomy, not even god can bare to watch
Not even ravens inhabit the dead trees
My dads stare, is deadly
He left me when I was 2
Attending all white powder parties, dressed to the tee, powder around his nose, sniffing in rushes
Sniffing lines, sniffing me
He wants me dead
Napoleon taught him everything
David taught him how to aim sling shots that shot crack rocks, and they hit me in the nostril
But I don’t sniff cause I am not a addict, I am not my fathers son
Hitler taught him a Nazi mentality, Shaka Zulu taught him heart, Sadaam gave him weapons of mass destruction
And they lie within the syllables of his words
They are atomic
You cant stomach the pain
Fidel Castro told him not to let me in his life
His emotional ties are fenced off from me
But once he haves me in his hate, he wont let me escape
Imprisoned by his pain, I am shackled in chains, he doesn’t want to see my happy
So I pick up spheres and aim them at his chest but never do I have the nerve to kill
I couldn’t imagine my fathers blood in the cracks of my fingers, staining my hands like he has stained my soul, well because, my hands are just like his
My lips, my shoulders, my build. Exact replicas of the dictator.
We are each others enemies, not one another’s keeper
And if blood is thicker then water, he likes milk, because he pollutes my wholesome with his oil
And it stays a float surfacing in my mind, parading around me like a dark sky
Dad, when did I ever try and hurt you
Don’t take your pain out on me
I am only a kid, let me breathe
Im tired of this field, this sky, these trees, just put down your sword, and let me, be me
Your son is tired of fighting
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Sugar
Back in the Bronx they talked about him like a king
An African King, a shining prince, he didn’t call his counterpart a bitch and he only wore gold, never platinum
Diamonds was a never, he knew his own people died mining them in Sierra Leone
But like whips on backs he couldn’t leave a block party and white woman alone
So he became universal like E.T. and Steven Spielberg
He started with spoken word but Mr. Dj said ay dog, you need a beat
You can be an M.C., move the crowd for me please
Give young woman something else to do, something they can feel good about instead of getting on their knees
Get these men out the streets
We gonna have a party
He rode sleds down sugar hills and began to jump rope like little black girls
He said a hip-hop, the hippie the hippie, to the hip-hop, a you don’t stop, the rock it to the bang bang boogie say up jumped the boogie to the rhythm of the boogie, the beat
And he jumped, and swayed through hoops of slavery
He had made it for the time being but had 30 more years of obstacles to overcome
The trend, the movement, the lifestyle, the revolution, had just begun
He had lives to save, little boys to lead a stray, and teenage girls to get pregnant
He had people to kill, had to commit a few 187’s on a undercover cop, and had rape cases to be filed
This boy was young, ruthless and wild
He kissed grandfather slavery songs and father jazz and sister r and b goodbye
He was on his own, with just his gun by his side
He hit the streets, kissed the Bronx graffiti and cardboard goodbye
Twenty years later ended up on the vegas strip
You live by the gun, you die by gun, and he killed Tupac Shakur
The right side of his body, vs. the left side, east vs. west, he was stuck in a internal war
But if he still just moved crowds instead of coke and drug smoke, and told young me to tote and chug, and young girls to dance and suck, we would still have Mr. Pac alive
But this man became a nigga, a soul deprived
West Coast messed him up, he needed a mental pilgrimage back to the east coast like El Hajj Malik Shabazz to Mecca
But money and power tends to make you forget who you are
A ghetto superstar, the definition he became. But drowning out the words, you can hear his pain
A disturbed being of social injustices, but he acts like we don’t know
He acts like we cant relate, like he is the only one. And his off spring, his sons, began doing the same, making up stupid ass dances that they did in slavery days.
The cycle is spinning, we are rewinding time, only difference is records are no longer a dime
We make him rich, we are somewhat his bitch
So I download his testimony
Gas is to high to be spending money on music that is gassed up with steroids, prescribed by rappers who record high
So Mr. Hip-Hop, you might be losing a fan, you use to be the man
You saved my life, you gave me testimony and taught me right
But you no longer give men a bonnie and woman a clyde
You tell us to cop expensive rides and flip off cop cars
To buy diamonds that just kill our people
To just flat out kill are people
And I liked you a lot better when you were in Bronx and Brooklyn
But now you’re a Crooklyn, Hip-Hop, who took him
I don’t recognize you at all
Remove your mask, and run into my arms
It hurts to see your downfall
I just want you sliding down sugar hills
And jumping rope like black girls, I liked you a lot better when you said
a hip-hop, the hippie the hippie, to the hip-hop, a you don’t stop, the rock it to the bang bang boogie say up jumped the boogie to the rhythm of the boogie, the beat
But please…….stop……and return to your sugary roots
An African King, a shining prince, he didn’t call his counterpart a bitch and he only wore gold, never platinum
Diamonds was a never, he knew his own people died mining them in Sierra Leone
But like whips on backs he couldn’t leave a block party and white woman alone
So he became universal like E.T. and Steven Spielberg
He started with spoken word but Mr. Dj said ay dog, you need a beat
You can be an M.C., move the crowd for me please
Give young woman something else to do, something they can feel good about instead of getting on their knees
Get these men out the streets
We gonna have a party
He rode sleds down sugar hills and began to jump rope like little black girls
He said a hip-hop, the hippie the hippie, to the hip-hop, a you don’t stop, the rock it to the bang bang boogie say up jumped the boogie to the rhythm of the boogie, the beat
And he jumped, and swayed through hoops of slavery
He had made it for the time being but had 30 more years of obstacles to overcome
The trend, the movement, the lifestyle, the revolution, had just begun
He had lives to save, little boys to lead a stray, and teenage girls to get pregnant
He had people to kill, had to commit a few 187’s on a undercover cop, and had rape cases to be filed
This boy was young, ruthless and wild
He kissed grandfather slavery songs and father jazz and sister r and b goodbye
He was on his own, with just his gun by his side
He hit the streets, kissed the Bronx graffiti and cardboard goodbye
Twenty years later ended up on the vegas strip
You live by the gun, you die by gun, and he killed Tupac Shakur
The right side of his body, vs. the left side, east vs. west, he was stuck in a internal war
But if he still just moved crowds instead of coke and drug smoke, and told young me to tote and chug, and young girls to dance and suck, we would still have Mr. Pac alive
But this man became a nigga, a soul deprived
West Coast messed him up, he needed a mental pilgrimage back to the east coast like El Hajj Malik Shabazz to Mecca
But money and power tends to make you forget who you are
A ghetto superstar, the definition he became. But drowning out the words, you can hear his pain
A disturbed being of social injustices, but he acts like we don’t know
He acts like we cant relate, like he is the only one. And his off spring, his sons, began doing the same, making up stupid ass dances that they did in slavery days.
The cycle is spinning, we are rewinding time, only difference is records are no longer a dime
We make him rich, we are somewhat his bitch
So I download his testimony
Gas is to high to be spending money on music that is gassed up with steroids, prescribed by rappers who record high
So Mr. Hip-Hop, you might be losing a fan, you use to be the man
You saved my life, you gave me testimony and taught me right
But you no longer give men a bonnie and woman a clyde
You tell us to cop expensive rides and flip off cop cars
To buy diamonds that just kill our people
To just flat out kill are people
And I liked you a lot better when you were in Bronx and Brooklyn
But now you’re a Crooklyn, Hip-Hop, who took him
I don’t recognize you at all
Remove your mask, and run into my arms
It hurts to see your downfall
I just want you sliding down sugar hills
And jumping rope like black girls, I liked you a lot better when you said
a hip-hop, the hippie the hippie, to the hip-hop, a you don’t stop, the rock it to the bang bang boogie say up jumped the boogie to the rhythm of the boogie, the beat
But please…….stop……and return to your sugary roots
Thursday, May 28, 2009
They Told Me I Would Be Nothing
They told me I would amount to nothing. They told me to never speak of success or Harvard PH.D.s. They told me I was under represented because my high school would have no black teachers on the faculty. So they told me to look up to them. They told me to forget my existence, my beliefs, my qualities that I embody, and to leave my head empty so they could cram in their knowledge. They shove text books in my face and then tell me I have to pay 100,00 dollars for college, when they know damn well I don’t have that kind of money. And if I were a woman, I would strip to pay my tuition, but I don’t have the proper body parts men drool over, I am only a man. So after you’ve took all of me what part of me do I have left. I have scratched and scraped this world for a piece of myself and I came up empty. I feel as if your trying to pimp me, as if im just a number, a 9 digit 2 dashed government assigned label. And I will speak this until you prove to me otherwise. And im not faulting any individual for I know its as collective as rain drops on window panes. Or my parents addictions on my childhood pains, so my family or society, who do I blame? No one.
I thank god, and stay grounded in my faith. And I thank. I thank him for blessing me with the gift of gab, to open these lips and speak words that paint pictures. They paint over cold inner city concrete, and paint on aristocratic mansions, they paint the color of my tongue, red, on all creations of man. And my color of passion becomes the 9th wonder of the world. I thank god for giving me this brush. Thank him for giving me the gift of making my old ancestors blush because I am half white, a part of me is. And yes, I am half black, a part of me lives. Ive been constructed from the same fibers of lynching ropes, and they make up the roughness of my palms. But I found it weird that if I blame whites, I blame half of me for doing the other half wrong. But they told me all of me was. They told me I would amount to nothing.
I thank god, and stay grounded in my faith. And I thank. I thank him for blessing me with the gift of gab, to open these lips and speak words that paint pictures. They paint over cold inner city concrete, and paint on aristocratic mansions, they paint the color of my tongue, red, on all creations of man. And my color of passion becomes the 9th wonder of the world. I thank god for giving me this brush. Thank him for giving me the gift of making my old ancestors blush because I am half white, a part of me is. And yes, I am half black, a part of me lives. Ive been constructed from the same fibers of lynching ropes, and they make up the roughness of my palms. But I found it weird that if I blame whites, I blame half of me for doing the other half wrong. But they told me all of me was. They told me I would amount to nothing.
Monday, May 25, 2009
The Only Girl For Me
She walked in, and sat, a smile stretching from one corner of her exotic sun tanned model face to the other
It was endless, like gods light
She came bearing fruit, and threw rose pedals from a basket calling my feet’s name, saying walk
I wont bite
She was bad
I mean Halle Barry, Alicia Keys, Beyonce, and Maya Angelou all rolled into one
Like the syllables of my words when I try and make them rhyme to fit a line, she was curved
I followed her rose path and I pressed my lips against her, and after a few seconds of mental elation and heaven, I asked what in the world is your name and where do they make woman like you
She said
Poetry, and im from the very pit of your soul
I rest in the solitude of confused states of being, over bearing emotions, and abandonment
You gave birth to me, so don’t blame me, blame your mama for making me this way
You constructed my face when you wrote your first poem, when you were back in the 7th grade
And now 17 years old, you entered a slam and finished making my legs, so I have appeared
You lighted my eyes with your sheer emotion and you make me hungry when you strive for excellence
Feed me
With your love
I don’t ask for much, all I ask is to be clothed nice and I don’t start a lot of fights, and I’m very comforting and giving and forgiving and all the traits you look for in a spouse, I will be that for you baby
Your ancient African blood mixed with your European enlightenment has made my skin a mulatto mocha
So when you press your finger to my cheeks don’t be surprised if your skin blends in
So when you press your pen to my pages don’t be surprised if your pen seems to just continue writing
We are meant for one another, there is no denying, or fighting, just keep striving for our honeymoon, coming the day after we wed
And I know you’ve already had me a plenty of nights alone in your bed, as you stay up and make love to me with raw passion
Sometimes you cry as you take me for your coveted rides, you look me in the eyes and say poetry , I love you
And I believe you nate
I believe you like I have never believed any man before
Your intentions are pure and your so compassionate, im not use to it
Im use to being pushed aside thrown in boxes and shoved away in closets, or garbage cans. Im forced to wear rags cause some people just don’t want to see me exposed. Little do they know its not in devious flaunting form, I am 100 percent natural beauty. So thank you for giving me a chance to be who I am.
They told you never to write me. They told you I didn’t exist like the blood of Nigerian Kings, or a black jesus. I was suppose to stay inside of you, the only thing that kept me alive was the vibrations of your heartbeat. My yearning to exist outside on some kind of paper turned to blood and I began to bleed, until finally you wrote with my red ink. Its as potent as the red lipstick of my lips that you kiss.
I love you
I think I want you to have my kid
Lets name the daughter prosperity and the son rose
And he will grow, from cracks of concrete and sprout on to something as great as you one day will be
But remember who was your first partner, who you first engaged with
It was me, poetry
You had me at hello, I came and sat down and saw you standing in the corner with tears in your eyes, and baby I wanted them to dry
So I offered my fruit, and gave you my pages, you had no pen so I told you to just use your fingers, let them act as ink and tattoo on my canvas scribes
Tattoo the name poetry on your forearm because Mr. Hall, I am always by your side
It was endless, like gods light
She came bearing fruit, and threw rose pedals from a basket calling my feet’s name, saying walk
I wont bite
She was bad
I mean Halle Barry, Alicia Keys, Beyonce, and Maya Angelou all rolled into one
Like the syllables of my words when I try and make them rhyme to fit a line, she was curved
I followed her rose path and I pressed my lips against her, and after a few seconds of mental elation and heaven, I asked what in the world is your name and where do they make woman like you
She said
Poetry, and im from the very pit of your soul
I rest in the solitude of confused states of being, over bearing emotions, and abandonment
You gave birth to me, so don’t blame me, blame your mama for making me this way
You constructed my face when you wrote your first poem, when you were back in the 7th grade
And now 17 years old, you entered a slam and finished making my legs, so I have appeared
You lighted my eyes with your sheer emotion and you make me hungry when you strive for excellence
Feed me
With your love
I don’t ask for much, all I ask is to be clothed nice and I don’t start a lot of fights, and I’m very comforting and giving and forgiving and all the traits you look for in a spouse, I will be that for you baby
Your ancient African blood mixed with your European enlightenment has made my skin a mulatto mocha
So when you press your finger to my cheeks don’t be surprised if your skin blends in
So when you press your pen to my pages don’t be surprised if your pen seems to just continue writing
We are meant for one another, there is no denying, or fighting, just keep striving for our honeymoon, coming the day after we wed
And I know you’ve already had me a plenty of nights alone in your bed, as you stay up and make love to me with raw passion
Sometimes you cry as you take me for your coveted rides, you look me in the eyes and say poetry , I love you
And I believe you nate
I believe you like I have never believed any man before
Your intentions are pure and your so compassionate, im not use to it
Im use to being pushed aside thrown in boxes and shoved away in closets, or garbage cans. Im forced to wear rags cause some people just don’t want to see me exposed. Little do they know its not in devious flaunting form, I am 100 percent natural beauty. So thank you for giving me a chance to be who I am.
They told you never to write me. They told you I didn’t exist like the blood of Nigerian Kings, or a black jesus. I was suppose to stay inside of you, the only thing that kept me alive was the vibrations of your heartbeat. My yearning to exist outside on some kind of paper turned to blood and I began to bleed, until finally you wrote with my red ink. Its as potent as the red lipstick of my lips that you kiss.
I love you
I think I want you to have my kid
Lets name the daughter prosperity and the son rose
And he will grow, from cracks of concrete and sprout on to something as great as you one day will be
But remember who was your first partner, who you first engaged with
It was me, poetry
You had me at hello, I came and sat down and saw you standing in the corner with tears in your eyes, and baby I wanted them to dry
So I offered my fruit, and gave you my pages, you had no pen so I told you to just use your fingers, let them act as ink and tattoo on my canvas scribes
Tattoo the name poetry on your forearm because Mr. Hall, I am always by your side
Sunday, May 24, 2009
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