Thursday, January 21, 2010
Monday, January 18, 2010
If Heaven Had a Face
If heaven had a face she'd depict all of your imperfect perfections.
Your hair, striking like lightning but your smile, soft as the clouds God lays his head upon at night.
If heaven had a face she's smile like you.
If heaven had a face i'd build a stairway to get there.
If heaven had a face her eyes would hold my soul like yours do.
If heaven had a face her skin would shine light down upon me as i walk down that valley, of the shadows of death.
If heaven had a face no camera could capture all the beauty of her life-span, just like you.
But heaven has no face...
So i see heaven through you.
Your hair, striking like lightning but your smile, soft as the clouds God lays his head upon at night.
If heaven had a face she's smile like you.
If heaven had a face i'd build a stairway to get there.
If heaven had a face her eyes would hold my soul like yours do.
If heaven had a face her skin would shine light down upon me as i walk down that valley, of the shadows of death.
If heaven had a face no camera could capture all the beauty of her life-span, just like you.
But heaven has no face...
So i see heaven through you.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
America! Awake!
America! Awake! Awake!
Awake to a poor woman feeding her son breakfast because all she has is two eggs, one piece of bread, a carton of milk, and a box of cereal.
Awake to eyes running and blood burning from watching a skeleton dangle from a tree, charred black; This was once a human being.
Awake to a baby being slaughtered, sucked out of a womb, and stuffed into the back of the mind, of a mother who was not ready.
Awake to a Hispanic gay boy being kicked out onto the steps of a Catholic church and being stuffed into Catholic school lockers for being gay.
Awake to an innocent Muslim woman wearing a hijab, being accused of terrorism against the U.S.
Awake to bloody leaders carrying life-sized wooden crosses down dirt roads to their own crucifixions.
Awake to black skin, and a white man staring you in your face, yelling , "You gon' die today nigger!"
Awake to the kiss of a gun's barrel, in the middle of your soft forehead, as sweat trickles down to your eye brow.
Awake to a jobless white man's sobs, because he had to look through a McDonald's dumpster for food again.
Awake to skin sliding off black backs, exposing white and red flesh.
Awake to your race being used as a team mascot.
Awake to being denied access to the "American Dream" because you're not American enough.
Awake to a frozen baby lying in a dumpster behind some old crack house.
Awake to a teacher telling you that you'll either be a nobody or be dead.
Awake to holding a gun while you shoot a civilian face to face, between his brown eyes, for a cause America has instilled within you.
Awake to being denied the right to marry the person you love.
Awake to a suicide attempt.
Awake to being stoned, and then burn alive.
Awake to seeing your reflection, while standing in front of a mirror.
And then...
Awake to the change you wish to see in yourself.
Awake to a poor woman feeding her son breakfast because all she has is two eggs, one piece of bread, a carton of milk, and a box of cereal.
Awake to eyes running and blood burning from watching a skeleton dangle from a tree, charred black; This was once a human being.
Awake to a baby being slaughtered, sucked out of a womb, and stuffed into the back of the mind, of a mother who was not ready.
Awake to a Hispanic gay boy being kicked out onto the steps of a Catholic church and being stuffed into Catholic school lockers for being gay.
Awake to an innocent Muslim woman wearing a hijab, being accused of terrorism against the U.S.
Awake to bloody leaders carrying life-sized wooden crosses down dirt roads to their own crucifixions.
Awake to black skin, and a white man staring you in your face, yelling , "You gon' die today nigger!"
Awake to the kiss of a gun's barrel, in the middle of your soft forehead, as sweat trickles down to your eye brow.
Awake to a jobless white man's sobs, because he had to look through a McDonald's dumpster for food again.
Awake to skin sliding off black backs, exposing white and red flesh.
Awake to your race being used as a team mascot.
Awake to being denied access to the "American Dream" because you're not American enough.
Awake to a frozen baby lying in a dumpster behind some old crack house.
Awake to a teacher telling you that you'll either be a nobody or be dead.
Awake to holding a gun while you shoot a civilian face to face, between his brown eyes, for a cause America has instilled within you.
Awake to being denied the right to marry the person you love.
Awake to a suicide attempt.
Awake to being stoned, and then burn alive.
Awake to seeing your reflection, while standing in front of a mirror.
And then...
Awake to the change you wish to see in yourself.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Making Love...
...I've never experienced this before. Having sex is fun but there is no connection. I wanna feel what it feels like to transfer love and emotions into a physical connection that only she and i can ever experience.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
MisUnderstood.......
I feel like nobody fully understands me. People who try to figure me out get me totally wrong. Some people think I'm hyper-sensitive. Others think I'm an asshole. Most think I'm some poetic philosopher. But I'm none of these. I am a God of my being and most of all i am a human being. Please don't let me be misunderstood.
Kill Yourself with the Truth
They say the apple never falls far from the tree,
Which means the fruit never falls far from its roots.
This means the strange fruit that once grew from those lynching trees
Never fell far from the slaves that knelt down on their knees
A hundred years ago, to pray to God that a change would come.
They told us that a change would come
But I haven’t seen it yet.
People gambling their souls to the devil
And he hasn’t even placed a bet.
The afraid might fear and the weak may tear
But you couldn’t hear my screams if I whispered them in your ear to you.
The United States is like a whore on the corner of a suburb,
And the government that’s pimping us isn’t the slightest bit disturbed.
Isn’t that absurd?
My pen bleeds for the seeds that never get the chance to grow past the first stage,
And my mouth is so sick and tired of speaking through a cage
That it would be an understatement to say that what I spit is just rage.
I’m furious.
Curious as to why inner city kids learn their ABC’s but don’t give a damn because their too concern with being a G
Or making one
Too busy trying to find their way instead of making one.
Two roads diverge into a wood but they’d rather take the taken one.
My brothers are the sons of guns
Because their daddies think with their triggers
Just like a Ni—
Nah I can’t even say that word
Because deriding one group is just absurd.
The Germans killed the Jews, rock music killed the blues, fake poets killed “The Cool”, and the mirror is killing you,
Because the more you see yourself, the more selfish you get.
The more you shoot blindly, the more innocent you hit,
And the more sins you commit the less innocent you get.
Karma’s effects…see?
Even if they aren’t directly,
You do me, you get done,
And that’s not a threat, see…
I’m trying to make you see everything has a consequence
Even if everything I say should be common sense.
Kids get buried before their grandparents do.
I told a mother her son got shot,
And she already knew.
It was bound to happen.
Isn’t that beautiful?
The only destiny for her kid in this world was death,
And speaking at the funeral would have been a waist of breath
So she killed herself,
Two days before the funeral,
So if you can’t live what I’m telling you,
Kill yourself.
Kill yourself with the truth.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Back on Campus
It's You and Me Against the World
I love you. Without you i'm always lost. So it's us against the world. Fuck the haters and screw the spectators. Our love can't be seen through a snap-shot.
The N***** Word
This is how i feel about it. This is not an attempt to offend those who feel oppressed by the N word.
This song describes my entire view on it so thank you Nas.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=26zbagk1j4E&feature=fvw
This song describes my entire view on it so thank you Nas.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=26zbagk1j4E&feature=fvw
My Addiction [old work]
I have an addiction;
And every night, I feel like I’m going through withdrawals.
I’m shaking and sweating;
And it’s getting…worse.
I need to do a line,
To write one I mean.
I need to pull up my sleeve and make a fist
And inject this pen tip into my wrist,
So words can flow through my veins and down my fingertips.
And I bleed all the results of my need onto the paper.
Yes I need to do this.
I need to write.
I need to write a poem.
I need to about how America is a melting pot but we’re all too busy to stir.
I need to write about how soldiers lose their brothers and come home with what’s left over.
I need to write about why we where crosses around our necks when crucifixes signify death.
I need to write about how I want to scrub the world on my hands and knees, but can’t because I don’t want to risk catching its disease.
I need to write about how I married poetry without a pre-nup.
Because I know if we break-up…she’ll take custody of our two kids, wisdom and insight.
I need to write about mother’s being fathers and fathers being martyrs.
I need to write about how drug-heads should lay in bed
And smoke shreds of my poetry
Or do a line of my lines, until they get high off my lyrical genius.
I need to write about how we are all born by a female but yet we still live in a man’s world.
I need to write about how now-a-days there is no distinction between a woman and a girl.
I need to write about how the recession is just another excuse.
I need to write about being homeless because home is where the heart is.
I need to write about how babies destined for greatness get slaughtered, sucked out, and fleshed away before their first breaths.
I need to write about Willie Lynch and Jim Crow.
I need to write about Hitler and Stalin.
I need to write about taking back our righteous minds.
I need to write about having an empty space where a heart should be.
I need to write about the other 85% of our brains since studies say humans only use 15.
I need to write about how slavery was abolished but black people still buy whips and chains.
I need to write about how I would lay in a ditch to be stoned or carry a cross to my own crucifixion if it meant we would believe in each other more.
I need to write about the pretty flowers whose absent fathers are the water they need to grow.
I need to write about how teachers are master gardeners that plant seeds of knowledge deeply rooted in our minds and pull up the weeds that try to shorten our bright futures.
I need to write about being alone because the people with money bought all the friends left.
I need to write about the rich being loveless since money can’t buy love.
I need to write the stories of all the sore losers since love is a losing game.
I need to write about being a loser since the good guy never wins.
I need to write.
I need to. I need to. I need-
My addiction is inevitable.
And every night, I feel like I’m going through withdrawals.
I’m shaking and sweating;
And it’s getting…worse.
I need to do a line,
To write one I mean.
I need to pull up my sleeve and make a fist
And inject this pen tip into my wrist,
So words can flow through my veins and down my fingertips.
And I bleed all the results of my need onto the paper.
Yes I need to do this.
I need to write.
I need to write a poem.
I need to about how America is a melting pot but we’re all too busy to stir.
I need to write about how soldiers lose their brothers and come home with what’s left over.
I need to write about why we where crosses around our necks when crucifixes signify death.
I need to write about how I want to scrub the world on my hands and knees, but can’t because I don’t want to risk catching its disease.
I need to write about how I married poetry without a pre-nup.
Because I know if we break-up…she’ll take custody of our two kids, wisdom and insight.
I need to write about mother’s being fathers and fathers being martyrs.
I need to write about how drug-heads should lay in bed
And smoke shreds of my poetry
Or do a line of my lines, until they get high off my lyrical genius.
I need to write about how we are all born by a female but yet we still live in a man’s world.
I need to write about how now-a-days there is no distinction between a woman and a girl.
I need to write about how the recession is just another excuse.
I need to write about being homeless because home is where the heart is.
I need to write about how babies destined for greatness get slaughtered, sucked out, and fleshed away before their first breaths.
I need to write about Willie Lynch and Jim Crow.
I need to write about Hitler and Stalin.
I need to write about taking back our righteous minds.
I need to write about having an empty space where a heart should be.
I need to write about the other 85% of our brains since studies say humans only use 15.
I need to write about how slavery was abolished but black people still buy whips and chains.
I need to write about how I would lay in a ditch to be stoned or carry a cross to my own crucifixion if it meant we would believe in each other more.
I need to write about the pretty flowers whose absent fathers are the water they need to grow.
I need to write about how teachers are master gardeners that plant seeds of knowledge deeply rooted in our minds and pull up the weeds that try to shorten our bright futures.
I need to write about being alone because the people with money bought all the friends left.
I need to write about the rich being loveless since money can’t buy love.
I need to write the stories of all the sore losers since love is a losing game.
I need to write about being a loser since the good guy never wins.
I need to write.
I need to. I need to. I need-
My addiction is inevitable.
Nature vs. Nurture [old work]
The girl standing next to me has sweat glistening on the tip of her nose,
And the guy to my right is frozen solid with his hand on the buzzer, like the temperature suddenly dropped 100 degrees in the middle of his attempt to buzz in.
Yes, your guess is correct.
I am a contestant on Jeopardy,
And if I answer this next question correctly, I’ll have double the score of both my opponents.
I’ll take nature vs. nurture for 500 Alex.
I feel my jaw lock as my knees become weaker by the second.
“What is the most essential part of any plant’s growth?”
I buzz in with the speed of a raging bull stampede.
My mouth opens with caution and I respond.
Who is…its mother?
I stare at the question on the blue television screen.
I hear an up noxious buzz similar to a fire alarm.
“I’m sorry...but that is incorrect.”
I suddenly feel my face turn red with fury as I start to argue with him.
No sir I am the one that’s sorry sir!
No I must apologize to you sir!
For you must be deeply confused.
Because mothers nurture plants until they begin to shoot;
Into beautiful flowers from with strong roots.
Mother’s give us water and pull the sun over our heads
When the shadows of death hover over our beds.
Mothers are the gardeners,
Who pull up all the weeds before they harm us.
Mothers are the drops of water
That hydrate us when the heat beats down on our petals for too long.
Mother’s allow photosynthesis so that our stems stay strong.
And when sway left and start to hold our heads down,
Mothers pick us up again and plant us back on fertile ground.
So sir I’m sorry to have to correct you,
But mothers are the ones who protect you.
And the guy to my right is frozen solid with his hand on the buzzer, like the temperature suddenly dropped 100 degrees in the middle of his attempt to buzz in.
Yes, your guess is correct.
I am a contestant on Jeopardy,
And if I answer this next question correctly, I’ll have double the score of both my opponents.
I’ll take nature vs. nurture for 500 Alex.
I feel my jaw lock as my knees become weaker by the second.
“What is the most essential part of any plant’s growth?”
I buzz in with the speed of a raging bull stampede.
My mouth opens with caution and I respond.
Who is…its mother?
I stare at the question on the blue television screen.
I hear an up noxious buzz similar to a fire alarm.
“I’m sorry...but that is incorrect.”
I suddenly feel my face turn red with fury as I start to argue with him.
No sir I am the one that’s sorry sir!
No I must apologize to you sir!
For you must be deeply confused.
Because mothers nurture plants until they begin to shoot;
Into beautiful flowers from with strong roots.
Mother’s give us water and pull the sun over our heads
When the shadows of death hover over our beds.
Mothers are the gardeners,
Who pull up all the weeds before they harm us.
Mothers are the drops of water
That hydrate us when the heat beats down on our petals for too long.
Mother’s allow photosynthesis so that our stems stay strong.
And when sway left and start to hold our heads down,
Mothers pick us up again and plant us back on fertile ground.
So sir I’m sorry to have to correct you,
But mothers are the ones who protect you.
An Elegy for an Angel Lost [old work]
We all, used to be God-like beings,
Until a black cloud of insecure thoughts, and careless actions plagued the world in which we dwell upon.
And Lucifer wrapped it up, in a blanket of sin, to deliver to God as a slap in the face,
But we angels don’t give up so easily.
And even though he tries again and again to bring us, we remain victorious. God is just so glorious.
He leads us down the path of right and wrong, and even though we are tempted by Lucifer we remian strong.
All of us, together as one, bear down through hard times until we have won.
Even though the battle is between good... See More and evil is not yet undone,
We stand here together until we have won.
Won, ended the pain and strife so that all of us can have everlasting life.
We angels don’t give up; not even when our hearts are ripped half way out of our tired bodies.
It just makes it easier for us to love you.
Here on Earth walks a population of miracle workers that give life, and raise seeds, to become the beautiful flowers that bless the ground gravity pulls us to.
Angels walk upon this very Earth, and grow beautiful roses; from the cracks in the pavement.
Angels that grow daisies, in concrete jungles;
We call them Mothers.
They produce fresh air, in a world that will choke you to death, if you breathe it in too fast.
Because of this, Heaven waits for the gardeners of this world.
But Heaven could not wait for this one.
For Rana,
She lives in a penthouse, on the top floor of Heaven, right across the hall from God;
And if you listen closely, you can hear her singing a beautiful song of Cheyenne through the whistling of the trees as they hug the air at sunrise.
Cheyenne, the symphony she plays on the strings of her heart, makes God smile whenever he hears it.
Look closely into the eyes of the gorgeous people on this Earth, and you can see Rana’s beauty, through our inner Heavens.
Hold our hands, and feel the warmth of an amber stone flowing through our veins.
Embrace our chests, and hold onto our backs, as we hold you, until the pain seeps out of your heart onto the ground beneath us.
And I know some of our brothers and sister aren’t as merciful, but if you look pass the pain scraped onto their faces, you can see the God in them too.
Upstairs from an angel with gold wings, and right next door to Martin Luther King, Rana taps her foot to the melody of your voice Cheyenne.
So whenever you start to lose your breath from the rapid flow of tears, just feel the rhythm of your heart beat;
Feel the tap of your mother’s feet.
And every time the sun light shines down on your face,
Just know it’s your mother’s hand caressing your cheek as you go forth into the world.
And as you travel through this world, you’ll do whatever you feel is right.
And as the world silences itself at night; to let tragedy sleep,
Look closely at the night sky, and your mother will be sure to wink at your accomplishments.
So if there’s ever a time, when you can’t stomach not seeing the face of your beloved mother,
As your soul shatters under your soft skin and you lose what little strength you still have within you; stand in the mirror, and look up.
She will always lie within you.
And never forget, that Rana was a queen.
A queen, in the game of chess we call life; but the players, they just moved her forward too soon.
But remember, the queen will always be, on the winning side.
And the queen will always protect her platoon.
So when you feel the weight of your ever-so-welcoming heart, sink down into your stomach,
Know; that she is there for you.
And when you become tired of pulling the world’s burdens, let them go,
And we will be here to carry you the rest of the way.
We will carry you forever more,
A family separated only but for a short time.
And this family,
Will always feel for you,
Feel with you, because we are one.
We will move forward,
With hope and strength.
Remember everything you will do
Is because of her
For her.
For Rana.
Until a black cloud of insecure thoughts, and careless actions plagued the world in which we dwell upon.
And Lucifer wrapped it up, in a blanket of sin, to deliver to God as a slap in the face,
But we angels don’t give up so easily.
And even though he tries again and again to bring us, we remain victorious. God is just so glorious.
He leads us down the path of right and wrong, and even though we are tempted by Lucifer we remian strong.
All of us, together as one, bear down through hard times until we have won.
Even though the battle is between good... See More and evil is not yet undone,
We stand here together until we have won.
Won, ended the pain and strife so that all of us can have everlasting life.
We angels don’t give up; not even when our hearts are ripped half way out of our tired bodies.
It just makes it easier for us to love you.
Here on Earth walks a population of miracle workers that give life, and raise seeds, to become the beautiful flowers that bless the ground gravity pulls us to.
Angels walk upon this very Earth, and grow beautiful roses; from the cracks in the pavement.
Angels that grow daisies, in concrete jungles;
We call them Mothers.
They produce fresh air, in a world that will choke you to death, if you breathe it in too fast.
Because of this, Heaven waits for the gardeners of this world.
But Heaven could not wait for this one.
For Rana,
She lives in a penthouse, on the top floor of Heaven, right across the hall from God;
And if you listen closely, you can hear her singing a beautiful song of Cheyenne through the whistling of the trees as they hug the air at sunrise.
Cheyenne, the symphony she plays on the strings of her heart, makes God smile whenever he hears it.
Look closely into the eyes of the gorgeous people on this Earth, and you can see Rana’s beauty, through our inner Heavens.
Hold our hands, and feel the warmth of an amber stone flowing through our veins.
Embrace our chests, and hold onto our backs, as we hold you, until the pain seeps out of your heart onto the ground beneath us.
And I know some of our brothers and sister aren’t as merciful, but if you look pass the pain scraped onto their faces, you can see the God in them too.
Upstairs from an angel with gold wings, and right next door to Martin Luther King, Rana taps her foot to the melody of your voice Cheyenne.
So whenever you start to lose your breath from the rapid flow of tears, just feel the rhythm of your heart beat;
Feel the tap of your mother’s feet.
And every time the sun light shines down on your face,
Just know it’s your mother’s hand caressing your cheek as you go forth into the world.
And as you travel through this world, you’ll do whatever you feel is right.
And as the world silences itself at night; to let tragedy sleep,
Look closely at the night sky, and your mother will be sure to wink at your accomplishments.
So if there’s ever a time, when you can’t stomach not seeing the face of your beloved mother,
As your soul shatters under your soft skin and you lose what little strength you still have within you; stand in the mirror, and look up.
She will always lie within you.
And never forget, that Rana was a queen.
A queen, in the game of chess we call life; but the players, they just moved her forward too soon.
But remember, the queen will always be, on the winning side.
And the queen will always protect her platoon.
So when you feel the weight of your ever-so-welcoming heart, sink down into your stomach,
Know; that she is there for you.
And when you become tired of pulling the world’s burdens, let them go,
And we will be here to carry you the rest of the way.
We will carry you forever more,
A family separated only but for a short time.
And this family,
Will always feel for you,
Feel with you, because we are one.
We will move forward,
With hope and strength.
Remember everything you will do
Is because of her
For her.
For Rana.
Come See me Live
Check this site out. I'll be at alot of the poetry open mics on fridays and saturdays. Search the open mic guide to the right or the poetry calender also to the right. More details coming soon. http://chicagopoetry.com/
Food for Thought
The human mind is starving; Dying with every plate we push away,
Because knowledge, is food for the brain.
The bigots and the hypocrites cut down the tree that is missing,
So we hire liars, politicians, to fix it.
But our brains are yelling, feed me, feed me.
You need me.
But we ignore the growling of our brains.
Too busy trying to feed our stomachs, with envy
Greed is not even seen as a sin anymore
Because we plucked out our eyes, and placed them in front of TV screens,
As we binge on lies and fictional perfections
And when we are full; we go to porcelain thrones and puke up reality.
Our bodies become anorexic tombs
Because we starve ourselves of confidence while our souls die in our wombs.
And we tune in, to feed the children commercials
As out hearts sink into our stomachs.
We don't feel it though, because it's full.
But we fill our ears with concrete deceit because we don't want to hear our minds growing.
Feed me, feed me.
You need me.
More than you need make-up, or surgery, or a cigarette.
We try to get rid of it,
The hunger.
So we pick up an apple, from beside the waning tree stump,
And bite into it,
Hoping to get a taste of what knowing feels like
As we grind our teeth together, and we chew, and attempt to swallow.
But we choke,
Choke on pain
Choke on flaws
Choke on rejection
Choke on the truth;
We should have eaten when it was dinner time,
But we chose not to.
So now, we go to bed hungry,
And dream of food for thought,
While our brains growl inside our stomachs.
Because knowledge, is food for the brain.
The bigots and the hypocrites cut down the tree that is missing,
So we hire liars, politicians, to fix it.
But our brains are yelling, feed me, feed me.
You need me.
But we ignore the growling of our brains.
Too busy trying to feed our stomachs, with envy
Greed is not even seen as a sin anymore
Because we plucked out our eyes, and placed them in front of TV screens,
As we binge on lies and fictional perfections
And when we are full; we go to porcelain thrones and puke up reality.
Our bodies become anorexic tombs
Because we starve ourselves of confidence while our souls die in our wombs.
And we tune in, to feed the children commercials
As out hearts sink into our stomachs.
We don't feel it though, because it's full.
But we fill our ears with concrete deceit because we don't want to hear our minds growing.
Feed me, feed me.
You need me.
More than you need make-up, or surgery, or a cigarette.
We try to get rid of it,
The hunger.
So we pick up an apple, from beside the waning tree stump,
And bite into it,
Hoping to get a taste of what knowing feels like
As we grind our teeth together, and we chew, and attempt to swallow.
But we choke,
Choke on pain
Choke on flaws
Choke on rejection
Choke on the truth;
We should have eaten when it was dinner time,
But we chose not to.
So now, we go to bed hungry,
And dream of food for thought,
While our brains growl inside our stomachs.
Quick Update
So yeah i just got back to school, and it's kind of boring. Luckily I can now post old/new work because I have retrieved my handy dandy notebook lol. So this is just a heads up. Stay True.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Don't Cry at my Funeral
Don't cry at my funeral.
Lay me in the back seat of a Cadillac so i can drive my way to heaven.
Bury me in a tomb so i can watch the flowers when they bloom in spring.
Make sure I'm in a suit tailored for a king,
and don't lay my arms across my chest.
Bury me like a soldier.
Don't cry at my funeral.
Put a hundred dollar bill in my pocket so i can tip the gate keeper,
And put a fan in the trunk of my car just in case God isn't too happy with me.
Make sure you kiss my forehead for good luck.
Don't read me no Bible either cause i really couldn't give a fuck.
Time is already up,
So bury me like a winner.
Don't cry at my funeral;
And don't fill my empty shell with guilt,
But just in case it's chilly in heaven, you can knit me a quilt.
Don't feed me bullshit about how I'll be so very missed,
And don't weep over me because it's kind of annoying.
Just bury me like a legend.
Don't cry at my funeral.
Put 4 pens in my hand,
And a notebook in my glove compartment.
Put Nas on my radio, with Common up next.
Give me a concept and an opinion,
But please don't tell me what and what not to write.
Bury me...like a poet.
But whatever you do,
Don't cry at my funeral.
Lay me in the back seat of a Cadillac so i can drive my way to heaven.
Bury me in a tomb so i can watch the flowers when they bloom in spring.
Make sure I'm in a suit tailored for a king,
and don't lay my arms across my chest.
Bury me like a soldier.
Don't cry at my funeral.
Put a hundred dollar bill in my pocket so i can tip the gate keeper,
And put a fan in the trunk of my car just in case God isn't too happy with me.
Make sure you kiss my forehead for good luck.
Don't read me no Bible either cause i really couldn't give a fuck.
Time is already up,
So bury me like a winner.
Don't cry at my funeral;
And don't fill my empty shell with guilt,
But just in case it's chilly in heaven, you can knit me a quilt.
Don't feed me bullshit about how I'll be so very missed,
And don't weep over me because it's kind of annoying.
Just bury me like a legend.
Don't cry at my funeral.
Put 4 pens in my hand,
And a notebook in my glove compartment.
Put Nas on my radio, with Common up next.
Give me a concept and an opinion,
But please don't tell me what and what not to write.
Bury me...like a poet.
But whatever you do,
Don't cry at my funeral.
The Peace Maker
Skin dark like the night sky after making love to the stars,
I am an artist.
A graffiti artist painting chalk outlines.
I am a composer.
Hear my sweet symphony just before a life is ended.
Even a poet.
Reciting elegies when human clocks stop running.
My work
Is visible at bedsides of death beds and in guilt-filled caskets across the nation.
They call me
The peace maker.
Hold me close and grasp me in your sweaty palms.
See how my body just feels so good next to yours.
I make you feel power-full; or power-less depending on which end of me you face.
But don't stare at me directly in the face; Don't hold me too tight either because i just might,
Blow
Like a fire cracker inside of a bullet proof case,
I explode at the sight of an enemy.
My song sings silently across battle fields as my heart beats rapidly on the offensive side.
Feel me up with emotions of pain and anger; Then squeeze me at an adversary,
But be careful
Because i pay no attention to name tags.
Only, death tags and body bags,
And if you don't aim me correctly,
You might not be on the winning side anymore.
Because losing is not at all a stranger to me.
Whether it be the loss of a life or the loss of the entire game it's
All the same, to me.
But I am the peace maker.
Even though i keep ears covered and heads tucked below bed frames,
And even though i make fathers, sons, and brothers disappear.
I may take an innocent life now and then,
And i may have killed some of our best leaders or maybe the lesser men.
But I am.
I am the peace maker.
Tears and tacit cries pierce the ears of mourners across the world.
I am a universal concept.
I am the reason you fear walking the streets alone at night.
I am the reason you rot behind mind altering bars.
I am the street corner.
I am the battle field.
I am the dirt road.
I am
The peace maker.
Squeeze my hand.
Make me sound.
Squeeze my hand.
Make me sound.
And watch the world around you shatter into pieces.
Like a bullet, kissing the forehead of a glass doll.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Lust, Love, Sex
Lust
Our eyes catch each other in sweaty palms as we embrace each other,
Hearts beating the rhythm we shall make love to.
We fall like a feather from a cliff
And we take snap shots of each others insides,
Because we make each others insides smile.
Love
Put your heart inside my body
And my spirit fits so perfectly inside you.
We grasp each others feelings until we
Squeeze the love out of our souls.
We feed on mental fixations.
Sex
We wrestle like a hurricane being drowned by the sea.
I devour every inch of you
And fill your empty mold with cups of my soul.
I march into the valley of your beautiful body
And taste the rain drops that fall onto my tongue.
I tell you, follow me, follow me to the highest peak
You finally agree with this gesture.
And you come.
Now, we stare up into the sky
In awe.
Like vs. Love
I have a huge dilemma. What do you do when you start liking someone else while separated from the one you're in love with? Then, when it's time to go back to where you belong, you risk hurting the one you like...i don't know if this sounds confusing but hopefully you get the point. I'm supposed to think with my heart and not with my mind but it's hard to differentiate between the two at times...i have no idea what to do...but time will tell.
Topic Request
Okay so I need a sense of what people want me to discuss and what interests my followers so feel free to send topic requests. Thanx =) Stay True.
Hey
So I just started this blog page today thanks to my best friend Dyamond (http://dyamondt1.blogspot.com/). I'll try to post blogs everyday or every other day. Hope you all appreciate my thoughts, views, and opinions. Stay True.
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