Is this the End (with Dayelle Brown)

Ashes from a withering rose,

flow out the card you gave me years ago...

But with all that time passing, it hasn't lessened the sorrow.

The agony begun, to out weigh my ecstasy.

While I punish myself with reliving the fantasy.

Reliving all we were supposed to be.

Back when it was all good,

Back when you treated me the way a man should...

Go back, I wish I could.

Before the love was tainted,

Before our hearts knew what our brains meant.

When my heart could hardly contain it.

I don't understand when you were saying...

That I needed a break

That maybe saying I love you so early was a mistake

As the law of diminishing returns became increasingly noticeable,

with every utterance of "I love you too"

Good love changes you,

the smallest taste challenges you to get better for your future.

But I started to wonder if instead of getting better I became stagnant.  

As I realized that the more you love you

Is a direct correlation of how I  love you,

But its magnitude had a fragment

A missing piece to the portrait that separated an insufficient work from a Maltese

I became confused...

As I realized that it wasn't me...it was you..

It was me,

Who gave you all the pieces.

It was me who always took you back...

It was me who believed in you.

It was always me.

Always me.

So what's so different?

What happened? How?

I wonder what your doing now?

Were those answers even worth it?

Like those answers will make the scales tip;

Past the point of no return,

Somewhere  around non existent.

That's where our love went...

This time it's different.

I need your consent.

Was it misguided fate?

Was it listening to my single friends who made the same mistake?

Or was it my need to spread my wings,

because I wanted to make it official after two dates?

But somewhere the straight path had a fork in the road as I veered into the road often traveled by infidels who don't wish to commit.

And now I run the risk of being placed in the folder that's filed in your mind,

labeled "past niggas who ain't shit"

As I wonder what went wrong I want to ensure that this decision...you.. me...us...

Is one that I can truly trust, and know that our paths were meant to intertwine.

And although I want to take a break,

one thing I do know is I cannot stand to envision you in someone elses arms that are not mine

And then it hit me...

You can't have it all.

Our inevitable destruction, you can't stall.

Because you chose to step back, instead of taking the fall.

Our internal clocks began to count away our time left together.

The road got rough, we couldn't whether the weather.

And now faced with being alone, you propose a break; how clever.

You listened to your friends, conformed to their views.

You're not even sure what you want, still so confused.

You've lost sight of what's true...

It hurts worse because you're  unsure, when I'm so certain.

The shows over, final act, close the curtain.

All our "I love yous" hit the dirt when...

My emotional explosives began to implode,

Shattered my being, my psyche, my soul.

Pain begets more pain, and takes its toll.

You broke me...

I'm not proud of it...

As I realize that the reason I'm so remiss

Is because of the constant thoughts in my head saying to me "she's too good for you"

The vision of someone that has what I don't doing things that I can't and sweeping you off of your feet as it has happened to me thrice before

I was tired of accepting defeat and I let my past hold the pen to our future.

You signed our fate,

A decision I didn't get to partake.

Yet I can't bring myself to walk away.

What if this is the one mistake were not meant to make?

The fear of the unknown makes my heart quake.

Do you realize what's at stake?

The future of my love life is pending,

All rests on the hope of us not ending.

But that's been the problem from the beginning...

In us becoming one, I became a half.

The half that is codependent on your laugh,

Felt like I needed you to complete the simplest task...

That isn't love,

This can't be love,

Haven't realized; been too afraid to judge.

We both know what we should do...

Are we through?

We can make this right

Anything worth having is worth the fight

And your right,  I should've followed  my heart from day one..

Its just I'm so used to losing...I didn't realize I already won..

You needed space, so I gave it to you

But I'm not sure, the space we can work through.

How can I be true to myself, but also true to you?

A little too late?

Can you mend my heart, after it was you who caused it to break?

I hope so, for heaven's sake.

Round 1

She rests beside me and
The feelings of "we" reprise me as her
Head is fixed on my pillow
She wistfully lies there with a seductive look in her eyes that creates a message yearning for me
Her want is my own and although she knows of my intent, my manhood begins its ascent while I long for her body
The tensions augment

So..My lips feel for hers, soft, mellow and meek as it soothes the fibers of my soul.
Through the depths of the night
Caressing her face I find delight
As our kisses interwine, and dance in accord to our hearts rhythm as our
Tongues muscle in and reap their reward My hands are in awe as they move in to tease, in order to please.. and as if it was in an instant, time begins to freeze because it is all about us...
I promptly withdraw and she reaches in quickly while she passionately kisses me
slowly I remove her clothes expeditiously and she mirrors the efforts diligently as her flesh I expose
my tongue starts to slow dance, leaving her entranced as I navigate across her beautiful skin as the inception of lust flows out from within
Traveling further down her body in a stream of lust, Feeling her pulse while
My mouth does its part as I watch her moan and convulse and I taste the furtile land of her oasis
She whispers to me and beckons me inside of her so I prepare by
discarding my previous task as our gazes collide
She gives me permission to enter, so I abide.
I open the door and although we’re just beginning, I’m yearning for more as I am
Sweetly surrounded by her unfolding delight of rhythmic motion
Cautiously thrusting and our sensations ignite her audible moans that drowns out the music.

She turns over and arches her back as I give that ass a smack and pull her hair going faster as she grinds her teeth while calling out my name in harmonic symphony
I know not to quit although my leg is cramped
But she clings to me tightly and my
Defenses submit, her thighs lock, as she begins heavily breathing and digging her nails in my back, as every moment is encased in this moment of time and space
The room begins to fog up rotate and we enter into a new world..My passions explode and the sensation surrenders
As I erupt, and she does the same as she continues to scratch me up, and in that position we remain
The end to this story is euphoric and as the caviat of pulsation ceases I
lose my strength as I rest on her chest as we cherish that sexual whirlwind
.... as we wait for round 2 to commence.

We Too Sing America

After Ferguson, I was pent up with so much anger. I was scared...I still am. Scared for my family. Scared for my unborn children, who will grow up in a world where race plays such a role that they will start behind the number line before they can even speak.

Here is a video to a poem that I have written, entitled "We Too, Sign America". Enjoy

Ask Me About My Blackness (with Jasmine Siobhan)

Let me ask you a question

When you look at my people, what do you see?

Is it an image of royalty?

Like Kings and Queens?

Or is it an image of ignorance and despair?

The kind that makes you cringe when we speak

What is your impression?

Is it a visual of a race that has been stressing

Or is it of a people that have yet to see its blessing

Or does our bipolar actions mixed with polar opposite reaction from the media leave you guessing

Or does the look on our faces as we get through our lives leave you stressing

Blank faces...

Have you had the chance to actually see the art of blackness?

It looks like you enjoy it's faceless presence.

The sports. The music.

Blackness graces those faces that are being played like the strings on the violin

Athletic and audible virtuosos being paid millions to execute playground activities and speak universal languages in order to engage our people into what THEY think...is art

meanwhile the man that signs his checks is holding the puppet strings...Geppetto

its no falsetto..that you speak fallacies of “I am not a racist but...” still exude consistent racism....until the Sambo on your favorite team scores a touchdown then you buy their jersey and remain struck so that he can see your allegiance but if he wasn’t in the limelight he would be just...another........

Freedom? What's that? None of us are free

Caged by a system that's supposed to be a democracy

That only supports the 1%

But We all want to have dialogue on how and why we're different

We are all one in the same

Different outside impressions

But the same oppressions.

Because you see...The same shackles that bind my hands and feet bind you except yours are invisible

Invisible to the eye but not the mind

Racism is holding us all down

Whether we're black, white or brown

You blank faces... You don't understand the privilege in the lack of blackness.

As the lack of melanin in your skin has a positive correlation with how YOU are perceived and treated

You see in this dog eat dog world you are holding the leashes

Enabling you to limit one’s journey with just a slight tug

As we remain obliviously obiedient in a system in which the architect did not keep us in mind &when constructing the blueprints and archetype

So if we follow it we have to work twice as hard to get half as far and one small instance can leave us back at the starting gate...meanwhile you get a head start

Where wearing jeans and a hoodie labels us as thugs but labels you casual

Where the rich steal money everyday but a small crime makes us irrational  

Where we are suspects but you will only be accused yet we are animals

Where most of started from the bottom and unsure what “now WE here” means but you started at a level we still strive to achieve and aren’t adaptable

Where in a social gathering its just a coincidence that cops are hanging on the corner and if one person acts up they call for back up because we all know we are powerful enough to shift the paradigm of the abstract into something tangible

Where any small reason gives cops the reasonable suspicion to stop and frisk

But I’m still looking for the instructions as to how this society works but you discarded the manual

So we are lost..

Lost in a cycle of generational hate

Where Everyday is a struggle

This is supposed to be America

Home of the free and brave

Opportunities' golden gates

But those said Opportunities are lost on my blackness

As my blackness unconsciously bows down

To the trials and tribulations of education, motivation and ambition

Uncontrollably falling to life's feet

Breeding the sense of entitlement for somebody else's advancement.

And all those somebody else's come to see the puppet show

Because the less you think about your oppressions

The more your tolerance grows...

In the hood, Dreams are illegal

You see in the hood, dreams are illegal
Now although we are told to dare to dream what is left to be said about my people?
That are constantly being told,

“You are Black, 

You know you can’t do that right” or 

“ain’t nobody got time for that” or
“you know damn well we don’t dream in the hood” 

Thanks to the mainstream media perpetuating that hood dreams aren’t dreams at all.
Thus causing ones dream to remain just that,
A dream with no action taken
Deferred with hope sucked from it,

and hastily drying up like a raisin in the sun.

As our minds remain cloudy, 

even through the torrential mental hailstorms of negativity from the outside world,

that seem to drown us as we scramble to seek shade to salvage what is left.
But what is left…

is so unrecognizable that the dream is set adrift and abandoned, 

leaving its potential to the imagination.

In the hood, dreams are illegal
A place where thinking negative is positive,

and thinking positive…makes you a sellout

Where success isn't defined with a suit or a tie,
But with athletic ability or a microphone
Because sports and music are so potent to the soul,

and its more addicting than crack is
And this high is just an illusion, 

just a confusion, 

but we are so blind by it…that we still go through it

So a ball bounces and a beat drops in monotony...

because Cash Rules Everything Around Me…

mindless while chasing a colorless rainbow in a grey sky,
That instead of a pot of gold at the end of it, 

there is a pot of nothingness that they mindlessly exchange for their dreams,

but in return they get..nothing.
Critical thinking is now an art best left to those whose dreams are left…best.

So in the hood, dreams are illegal
But tonight I…I… am… dreaming..
Of the land of the beautiful and the home of the brave
Where black kings and queens rule the Earth and,
Where the talented tenth has increased exponentially,

that being black is the new…black

Where racism is a thing of the past,
And you aren’t afraid to walk hpme at night.
And a woman doesn’t clutch her bag when they are in an elevator alone or when they walk past us
And more white picket fences encompass Black established homes…
And jobs aren’t obtained just so companies can meet a diversity quota

And dreams...Dreams..… flourish blossoms of tangible action
As the roots continue to influence the ravenous youth that seek its fruit
Just when I think life imitates art, and life can be like I imagined...
… I hear gunshots…ringing in the heat of the night
Followed by screams violently disrupting my dreams.

And I wake up in the hood…

where my neighborhood is at the bottom of the barrel.
Where I do not need to read the paper or watch the news to understand,

 that something bad had just happened

And I see… a brother killing another brother
Another man failing to reach the age of 21…
Another mother losing a son
Another ghetto youth living for nothing…and dying…for nothing


And As the ambulance leaves
And the siren stops..
And the crying fades away
And the crowd disperses.
There is nothing left but a flickering street light...and silence

Silence that sobers my skin...
Silence of a dream yet again stolen and set adrift
As the self-inflicted genocide continues
So I sit here…shook…shocked at another young youth slain and another one taken away just..because

And I realize that our youth has forgotten what it means to dream
That without dreams....nothing exists and our youth is confused...
I continue to hope that our dreams…

finally become a reality 

and that the hood can realize that dreams… are not…illegal.

The Emerging Man

When one thinks of the term emerging, you think of being up and coming and possessing sheer prominence
And those that emerge have the ability to singlehandedly establish their dominance by use to their wit, sophistication, and opulence

So what about the emerging man?

The emerging man is a new standard to measure against.
A new echelon of sophistication in the being of an everyday man.
You see, the emerging man doesn’t possess swag, but rather they exude confidence
The emerging man doesn’t become a sheep in the world of fads and followers, but rather creates their own style while shielding the disdain of those that possess incompetence
The emerging man IS his own experiment, while those without knowledge are still trying to decipher the hypothesis
The emerging man doesn’t get with numerous women for gratification, but searches for that one that would be an efficient complement


The emerging man merely doesn’t earn wealth, he creates it.
The emerging man isn’t shrouded in drama, he escapes it
The emerging knows he can have whatever he wants…once he abandons the belief that he can’t.
The emerging man merely combines the beliefs of those before him and has it resonate off his spirit
So that people can realize that Malcolm, Martins, and Cleavers still exist in this world where a role model doesn’t play their role


The emerging man integrates all of his energies into a new prototype of manhood.
A prototype in which will become a blueprint for the foundation of what it truly means to be a man.
Where owning a suit takes precedence over owning the latest sneakers
Where providing for their family is more important than being a leach
Where they don’t forget where they come from, but to use their humble experiences to instill the belief in a little boy who was told they would never make it, by taking the time to teach

This confluence of energy reveals a fuller and more dynamic spectrum of personhood in which souls flourish,
As they embrace their kinetic energy, enabling the other energy aspect to mature and thrive up to its potential
This new measure of the emerging man is defined by how well they honor and respect the various aspects of their being;
Not just the provider and the warrior energy, but their hearts center as well.

Performance 1/10/2013

 A clip of my performance from the Rhymes and Minds Showcase

The One Eyed Looking Glass (with kb3socrates)

In this society, material things seem to be taking precedence,

Over things that actually possess value and long term elegance.

While we fight for sneakers, phones and tangible things proven by society to be venomous leading to societal pestilence

Some people out there are being opportunistic and taking advantage of our negligence

They have no choice but to benefit from our voluntary helplessness

While the media provides emphasis by broadcasting evidence of our recklessness

Thinking they are going to deliver magnetic resonance by only exposing the malevolence

Thus insulting our mental dexterity as we castigate its irrelevance

But we need to wake up and show the world that while we are materialistic we ensure the power of eloquence

Even though some choose the path of decadence,

the ones that the media points their cameras at in order to obtain viewers which helps to strengthen their prejudice

And those who get their 5 minutes of fame

singlehandedly artificialize our intelligence in this era of artificial intelligence such that no matter which way they are headed

they are still mentally directionless

by not realizing that they are setting our people back with their ignorance

While we become mystified by superficial and falsified reality of TV shows that we BELIEVE them instead of being incredulous

Destroying your 4th wall perception

Till your neurons no longer have reception

 The walking dead, resident evil in the present

Walking side by side dancing, the devils denizens 

 Prosperity profits and material zealots

Baptized in nihilism and reborn in irreverence 

Sell your dreams, but all you get is arrested developments 

Fresh straight jackets and heavy chains, modesty is blasphemous 

Who's that watching us watching them its big brother, just

Seeing all to give you some perspective in him we trust

So keep your finger off that dial and your eyes wide shut

Five Hundred Words

If I had five hundred words before I die,

I would tell you how I feel as concisely while maintaining the raw essence of my aspirations

I would reach out to as many people as I can, with a hundred “Hello’s” to brighten the day of those who thought this day would be the last of their existence

Or one “Hello” over a loud speaker so that a hundred people can hear it….efficiency

If I had five hundred words left,

I would finally cash out the bottle that contained all of the pennies that have accumulated for your thoughts

While searching for the constant others that I tossed into all those wishing wells as the wish of you becoming mine finally became a reality…

In order to deposit them into the savings account of my heart in order to accrue more of your interest

I wouldn’t speak the whole five hundred words, but rather act them out keeping in mind that

If a picture is worth a thousand words, I would use these 500 to create so many pictures that I would create the Sistine Chapel to show off to the world that you are picture perfect

No filter…

I know that if I speak with the notion of 500 words left, those that matter would ask for an explanation thus utilizing 37 extra words and yes I have counted. So I would hope they can figure out the prose of realization just by looking into the whites of my eyes…while I remain speechless

With these five hundred words

I would only need 3 to tell those I care about how I feel,

While only using 2 for those who gave me these wounds while trying to escape the barrel of life

And using the majority to give a voice to those that cannot muster up the courage to say what is on their mind.

Most importantly I know that if I were to spend my last words on earth with anyone, it would be you

Limitless Thoughts, Limited Colloquies

Wishing that I had more to say, but knowing that our hearts are so intertwined that you identify what I am to say before its utterance

And while the words I have left hastily deplete, know that if I was ever speechless in the time that I was here, just know that it wasn’t because I didn’t have words to say

But rather because the thoughts that I had for you became my ghostwriter, allowing the words that I wanted to say to resonate off of my spirit with such magnitude that you can feel it miles away

And know that those five more minutes we could’ve spent on the phone wasn’t because I was tired, but because I wanted to see you in my dreams so badly, that I couldn’t wait to go to sleep

I hope that I gave you enough pieces of me, so that when it is all said and done I can say that I…

She

She

She…
Is a beautiful black woman who knows what she wants out of life
A beautiful head upon positive shoulders
A sister, friend, aunt and inevitably…a wife
That is what she is

She…
Is constantly physically and even metaphorically portrayed as a,
Scantily clad façade of pride who is only appreciated more, when she takes off less
When approached my men, she knows they are thinking about how she looks under that dress
Because of her coke bottle figure and her perky breasts
Under constant duress because the media made her this way
Made her to feel as if she isn’t a person, but an object
Because of porn videos, music videos and reality TV.
And to her dismay whatever reputation she has established,
Would demolish at the mere sound of “bands would make her dance"

She…
Is constantly reminded that she is not beautiful
Because every ad, tv show, movie, and magazine portrays what society considers beauty
Lighter skin, thin frame, straight hair
Thus taking away from the true denotation of the word
Sex sells and those with a nice body, make the most commission
So it is her mission to get like those women on TV

…But it isn’t what she….looks like

So she starts dieting by throwing up what she consumes,
and working out 6 hours a day to the point where the sweat protruding from her body starts to fume and she struggles within the 5^th and 6^th hour but she feels she must burn the calories from the stick of gum she had for lunch..
but don’t worry it was spearmint so it was 20 calories instead of 15…
Straightening those natural curls, her identity weakening with every stroke of the hot comb
Wearing make- up that will make her chocolate skin infused with a bit of caramel and changing her wardrobe,
because of what the media has etched into her head…
Wearing lip gloss, concealer and eye liner to bed, not only so she can feel better about herself, but because she feels she will look good in the morning


She isn’t she….anymore. But has taken the identity and persona of “them”


She…
Is now a mere shadow of what she used to be
She… has allowed herself to fall victim to the “Barbie”, Top Model and “Maybe it’s Maybelline” America
She...would now rather listen and pay more attention to Nicki Minaj, than Nikki Giovanni
Now a pawn in life’s game of chess, being allowed to only move to protect the king of the media,
taking misdirection from the knights of peer pressure
but not realizing that she was ALREADY a queen
Now that she…has now taken on a new identity to conform to the “formalities” that the media has deemed “beautiful”
Although she still doesn’t love herself because this new identity isn’t the beauty her mom used to possess

Now when she looks in the mirror, what looks back isn’t the same person
But in fact a façade of a woman who got caught up..
She…has forgotten where she has come from
And although her parents brought her up right…even she….couldn’t escape..

Throwback Thursday: Niggas Ain't Shit - A Males Response

You are always telling your girlfriends this nonsense about how "niggas aint shit"
Well... The answer to this is simple...how about you stop dating these "aint shit niggas"

But have you ever sat down and actually reflected on why you sulk and complain about how
you're about to be "on to the next one",
because the current one you have...is just like your last one
and how all of them are just like your past ones, and no one can be "just like your best one"...but your still single?

Maybe it is because you place your standards a little too high,
You want what every body else wants you to have, not seeing past the physical facades
Looking for that swan... but your the ugly duckling
Not by physical beauty, but by mental grace
And its a disgrace how you put every dude in the same category, chastise them but yet you maintain the same criteria as you are looking in the same damn place,
when in reality the one that can and will treat you right and yearns for your embrace...
.is actually right in front of your face but you are so blinded that your tunnel vision sees past the friend zone
into the eyes of those that dont want to talk but wants to take you to the crib to bone, leaving you confused the next morning as you leave their home

Or maybe it is because there may be something about YOU that make dudes want to not deal with you for too long.
Its funny how you always play the victim, while spitting the same symptoms of how you became single, but not once have you said what you did.
We're not calling you liars, but we just find it funny how EVERYTIME you're pronounced single its because of what he did, and not what you did, or didn't do.
Or you cannot click with a dude on a philosophical level, not questioning your intelligence but if we mention something of substance as you mention Bad Girls Club, Steve J and all that shit thats irrelevant, no matter how bad you look its a turn off..which leads to us tolerating you for a few then getting turned off.

Or maybe its because you let your last relationship dictate your next.
How you won't take a chance because "you heard it all before" or a situation reminds you of your past vex
Like your guy liking a fb status, a retweet or even an 8pm text.
So you put up a shield and EVERY dude that approaches you, you start to let him get close,
but then you push them away, and remain unsure because you feel a snake strikes best
when ones guard is down.

Well sweetheart you never know what's in store until you take your hand off the e-brake and put yourself in cruise control,
but your still so mystified and misty eyed because your real eyes couldn't realize those real lies and you are STILL recovering from the hurt he placed on you
that we can never win.

Of course we know that you have been
hurt in the past,
But that does not mean you can put us on blast by establishing your opinion too fast,
because you feel that ALL men must suffer because of what a FEW men have done to you.
Because I REFUSE to pay for his mistakes.
And you letting your past affect your futures fate,
While the one that you are destined for will have to wait to partake
because your so busy looking for "Mr. Right, and not "Mr. Right Now",
which explains how your single, not because you choose to be,
but because you WANT to be because if you cannot find tranquility within yourself,
it is useless to seek it elsewhere.

So yea, you keep believing that "niggas aint shit"
All this attitude is going to do
Is turn the good ones away from you.
You do realize that the more you say these 3 words, we take 3 steps back,because we refuse to be attacked for trying to defend ourselves for something that we didn't do
When with all due respect, it might not be these "aint shit niggas" that is keeping you single
the problem might actually be....you

WheelChair Recess

Under grinded flakes of clouds
gather echoes of children
who sprinkle benign laughter to ears
He sits..
Quietly on hooves of steel
bond by flaps of leather
and slightly frayed Reebok Classics
Toes tight, tense to
the usual sights and sounds
of rigorous running of children
An invasion of intoxicating
excitement bellows beckoning
like balloons ready to burst in the heavens
He awaits stout in
strapped stagnancy to
the leather plated backrest
for a push to join in the joyous
occasion of recess
Twines of his hair
tangle in the subliminal breeze...

The hairless girl
cornered with him
weaves her cancered
fingers regrouping
his thick locks
Each takes the gift
of normalcy
to the future
for one day it will
be theirs
Hands gripped they
belong,
if only to each other
Within these tedious seasons
they wait for a cloudless sun
together in the magic of hope

9/11 Tribute : Satiation

September 11th, 2001 was one of the tragic days in human history. Thousands died and many others were affected. When we reflect on those events, we mourn those who risked their lives and those who were affected. We must also think about those who still struggle today due to those tragic events.....

SATIATION

Can I have some more

Can you spare a dime?

Yeah you can walk past me, and its fine

But have you ever taken the time, to look past the grime

To question the reason why I am homeless? The reasons why my satiation has yet to be filled

And why I still have the urge to beg you?

Yes, I’m human just like you, And although the clothes and stench may have you fooled 

The truth is that I was ONCE in your shoes

But do you have any idea of how it feels to have everything taken away from you?

Blessed to have a family and a job, To come home to a home cooked meal and alleviate my child’s sobs…To hear the stories of my family’s day, The 100 on the spelling test and the game winning catch at the little league game

The raise received at work, and the cries of my daughter who can’t find a date yet for the prom

I Thought life couldn’t get any better...Until that fateful day when it happened to me

On September 11th 2001 at 8:46 AM…

My family was in the wrong place at the wrong time

Near the site of the terrorist attack....They Succumbed to wounds of a collision

And no they weren’t under my provision

Because it was under my suspicion 

That once 5pm Tuesday hit….something was wrong

I found out my family was gone………and I lost it

I LOST IT ALL!!!!My family, my life…..my mind…..everything

So I went ballistic, because my mental logistic could not comprehend how realistic this situation was

After my release from the asylum, my lease was up, my job was too….and my belongings belonged to someone else….

So I began bathing in a nearby pond, Eating food at places that I wasn’t too fond

 And trying to receive clothes from nearby charity bonds

And seeing people slowly abscond Just to remain afloat

But see, when you have nothing in your possession

And no support to lean on, The possibilities of a second chance is remote 

So, Mr. Gates, can YOU spare a quarter, although you have trillions

And can You Mr. Athlete help out a fan, although you have millions……I THOUGHT SO

Ostracized by society because I didn’t meet the societal norm....And I truly have seen how my education didn’t mean SHIT…if you can’t walk in an interview without a pressed suit.

 I really thought things would get betterSave for my only possessions…..$10.00, a Metrocard, a pair of jeans a blue jacket and this sweater

So….once again…have you thought about how I’m feeling right now

How I am surviving, how I maintain, how I’m just getting by

This dollar has meant more to me than ever before

And IM TIRED of being turned around by closed doors

 Running from place to place for warmth in the winter

If you were me, you would never take anything for granted...Because although the life that you live may be enchanted, Even Cinderella’s coach turned back into a pumpkin

No I’m not like this because I’m lazy, Nor do I say all of this because I’m crazy

But because my future seems hazy….In these streets, taking it day by day.

No one to help me and falling asleep to the rattling sounds of the change that is in my cup, symbolizing my hope for a change in my life as I realize that I have nowhere to go but up

But…..until that times comes, Where God can see my full potential, and I can live just fine….

Can I get some more?......Can you spare a dime?

An Oceans Denotation

As I

Stare into the ocean adrift, my mind gets set a drift ,

And this mental shift causes me to think

Contemplating how to link the ocean in correlation with the idiosyncrasies of this life of mine

Though benign and sublime, the ocean possesses a regality and mystique that

Seems to mystify me while demystifying all of the harsh realities that are left once paradise has its shift in paradigm

Whereas my normal life is in a hurry I can set my eyes on the ocean with no worries as the sands of the hourglass remain in still life to my instilled life realizing that this is still….life

Observing the waves and its inference to life’s parabolic instances that gives you a harsh reminder that what comes up, must come down

What obstacles you will face eventually will turn itself around…because life has its way of working itself out

Remaining weary that all waves vary in magnitude

Its longitude intertwining with your latitude will continue to steer life’s compass that encompasses the very essence of your attitude and your ability to stay afloat

It also allows you to ponder that as each wave hits, whether you need a life jacket, flippers or a boat, or if you just wish to drift ashore into an island of mental dexterity whose coordinates are remote

And as the ocean of life continues to wash fragments of yesteryear ashore

Some remain with you through each wave, while others descend on to dry barren land, leaving its legacy to the vile abiotic ecosystem of your life,

Like seashells being found along a coast

Some, maybe most, although small have secreted enough mental carbonate

That what is left is just the utter façade of their former self

Symbolizing how the relationship itself came about

Beginning a journey untrusted and over time slowly chipping away at is shell until it finally came off as they enter the ocean of your life

And while some have grown and have continued its rise through lifes figurative food chain some have forgotten you while not being forgotten

Leaving its shell as a constant reminder of their legacy and that

Any and all interactions are learning and enriching experiences, whose lessons will forever remain even as the tide comes in. 

Jim Crows Inmate

Inmate,
Another nameless, faceless criminal taken off the streets
within the skip of a hearts beat
Another shameless, brainless hazard to society
Locked up behind bars, for no less than 25 years
To protect the "righteous" members of this community
To keep him away from us in accordance to the government’s strategy

Inmate, another man walking through the halls of this prison complexity
Another violent offender, another one resisting arrest
Another one refusing to surrender, another plea of innocence
Obviously a lie, no matter how hard he fights and insists
Another one chasing his aspirations, chasing the American dream
Another street corner celebrity with mad street credibility because of a family history of inherited criminality

Inmate, another one sharing a space of four walls with no windows
Dividing the crowded space, forced to live with men he can't stand because there isn’t room for them and his thoughts but
He's gotten used to the noise, the struggle, the violence, the putrid smell...of fear...and uncertainty
He has used his voice, tried to reach out and can't stand this living hell, that has no purgatory
The courts don't care, the warden don't care, the CO's couldn't care less
He is on his own, living to eat and for the civility of other men
His life has become one mess which was once promising and blessed, now he would do ANYTHING to see his family again
And to think that all of this happened because of a friend
Which didnt make sense Until that one day he tried to make a quick buck one night because this thing that we call minimum wage which means that if America could pay less they would…wasn’t cutting it

Inmate, you can see through it and reach through it but you can't walk out that threshold
You can't use the phone, only one plate at lunch, there's never room for 'I want more' or 'my food is too cold'
In the belly of the beast the dragon pleas to be unleashed
To be released into the crease this paradise of demons, so he can enjoy a century of war.
However the police that wrongfully accused him, are still out there probably smiling underneath, because they are the real thieves by stealing a life while not accepting defeat..

Inmate, another young black man working on these concrete cotton fields for free
Another American chain gang shackle, another victim of modern day slavery
Another young black king convicted for the darkness of his skin
For the poorness of his wealth, for his mental health, for the prejudice about his kin

Into this new era of Jim Crow,
Where even when he does becomes free, will still remained shackled by the system
Can’t find a job, can’t vote, can’t live his life the way he wishes to live it
A member of this new social undercaste that makes an untouchable seem more of a citizen the moment he checks the box that asks if he has a criminal record on an application
Surprisingly less than three fifths of a man..
Which makes one question how can one make ends meet when the only occupation that will accept him…are the streets
So all that's left to do to make due is to do the same thing that got him there in the first place
Once again he will be a paper chaser, who will be fighting to stay alive to fulfill the dream he sought before he caught this case
Rent is too expensive, his child needs new clothes and no money is coming in
So he will try his luck in gambling and hustling, becoming a prison style money maker…again…
A beast among the animals in this struggle for life, doing his own time on these acres of hell that we call… America
Land of the free….unless you used to be locked up
Free…but the scars from the handcuffs will forever remain existent and the figurative noose marks from the system that tried to bury him, will still glare red on his neck
What once was love is not the past, hatred feeds the hater and his lost soul dwells steadfast
Until…he is back into the same purgatory that consumed him previously
And this vicious cycle of inmates leaving prison only to go back because they are not accepted into society…will continue…and although these members of society have names they will forever be known as…inmate

My Bleeding Pen

My pen only bleeds what I see in real life..

As I plant and plow the nucleus of uniqueness into each bit of prose

in order to make it satiate the needs of my convictions

In addition to enabling others to heed my recognition as

they read in wonderment and suspicion about which alter ego I choose to portray

Day to day I make an attempt of not trying to attempt to please others with my passion, emotion and dismay.

But trying to be myself but conceal aspects of myself that allows others to be themselves

Not in efforts to teach but so others can absorb the blood oozing from my pen like a leech

You see, this pen retains all the feelings that I possess...

The spilling of the ink symbolizing my distress and

The evenflow of my thoughts,

even flows even through the mental bloodclots

becoming more strengthened with every I dotted and t crossed.

As each idea that is tossed in my head eventually blemishes the tablet as I scribe

as if I am in a trance...

As my pen bleeds, it leaves figurative stains that become so embedded that

No matter how many times I attempt to wash it out,

it will forever exist

In the midst of trying to clean up my life of the dust settling within the mist

Each stain symbolizing each aspect of life that makes me who I am today

All vividly created within my literal and metaphoric tablets that has both undergone a metrical composition of a blood transfusion to prevent a comatose,

Which has become so versified that all blood types seem to be a match

but I cease to allow more to flow to prevent an overdose

So as my pen bleeds I constantly need a mental IV in order to remain balanced

as I continue to quench these paean thoughts.

Aspirations start to become an actuality as life imitates art

Even if only for a moment as I place myself into the mindset of what minds desires or hope that would transpire as to inspire what is next

And as my pen continues to bleed,

only my pen can dissect the enigma that is my thoughts as to eloquently bisect the intertwining of my minds wants and needs so I never know what to expect.

Poetry is....ME....and my pen…is my lifeline

As my pen bleeds...what I see...in life