Letter Of Intent

I, Solemnly Swear that my actions are of the purest intentions…

My intent is to treat you as an equal

You are much more than a Female or a Woman; I want you as a Partner

Every step you take is a step we will take together; walking side by side

…Not behind nor in front, harmonious like a gospel hymn

Together we will conquer all obstacles and build our empire

…Keyword being, Our

I’ve wanted you in the worst ways, but you can’t see past my manly build

Instead you’ve chained me to your human built prototype of Man

I am neither Them, nor are they Me

You wonder what my intentions are…

I can reassure you as a Man…

I’ve envisioned the sweet nectar that pours in your most sacred garden

I am NOT a Bandit, nor do I seek to pillage your inner most Sanctum

I am here to worship it, tend to every crevice and corner

And where there is hardened stone, I plan to turn it to marble

As for your garden, it will blossom before Spring

Yet, you wonder what my intentions are…

You believe that Man seeks only one thing….Sex

Physically I can take you to clouds you never knew existed past nine

But mentally, I will make your brain orgasm a thousand times

To me that is where connection is defined

Yet, I’ve said this before…and you compare it to another played pick-up line

You say Men see Women as objects in a toy store

Well let me tell you…

I’ve seen our future in your eyes, in a place that is infinity and beyond your current state of mind. Light-years from now you’ll see this love story was never built for toys

You still wonder what my intentions are…

I surprise you with dinner and a movie, but that is too simple

You want more because you say all guys do that…

I buy you the finest clothes and take you on expensive trips, but that is too simple

You want more because you say all the ballers do that…

For 365 days I engrave on your heart reasons of why I love you, you’re speechless

But you think I’m up to something because I’m crafty with words

You stop thinking, and you ask me what my intentions are… I reply…

You’ve been sold many dreams that MLK forgot his most profound one

But I do not judge you because we all make mistakes

It’s fair to say, that I to have been a Merchant of Dreams

And undid the tightest seams of the prettiest maidens

Time has allowed me to change

I want you in your most raw and barren form…no make-up

Just you and your natural hair

In that moment I want you to gaze into my eyes to see where my truth lies

Rest your hand on my heart and feel the beats of a weary King

Understand that like you, I have also met defeat in love and war

Yet, I accept you for the genuine person you are

If you are reading this, that means you couldn’t decipher what a blind man could see

My motives were mistaken for the mishaps of my gender

And to happiness you didn’t surrender

Time has its circumstances and has led us to parting ways

Keep checking the mail; you’ll be receiving My Letter of Intent one of these days…

Who Am I?

Who Am I?

My name is Yalabe, Yala meaning God, the one that presides over the Kings

Which means it was bestowed upon me to be nothing less than great

As for Be, I was the gift that my Mother bore for nine months

And when I was finally unwrapped…nothing else in this world compared

For she knew that I would always be fine, because the divine gave her Yalabe

… God’s Gift

Who Am I?

I strive to be a teacher, but I was born a chemist, but understand I hate science

Pour some words into a cup, and then add truth

Whip those ingredients to a fine consistency… You now have an altered reality

Where the fish fly and the birds swim, yet it all makes sense

And people focus on the future, instead of building villages in their past

Who Am I?

My mother told me that if I am to be a King, I better be a Tyrant

Growing up I held myself to an unjust standard…

Until the day came where I decided I would revolutionize my mind

Fairly simple…I GREW THE FUCK UP

Some tough words from a Queen, but she was molding her Heir

… to be a better man than his predecessor

Who Am I?

I’m just another NIGGER…

Skin tone matches those of hyper-sexualized and violent savages

And my words are worth as much as garbage

But if I am to be confined to being a NIGGER…

I decided I would open a book, and read between the lines of my history

Decipher the coded language of English, and speak its foreign tongue

I would look the part…

Clothed in a three piece suit and status only fit for the intelligent

So If I am to be a NIGGER…it will be on my terms

Who Am I?

Even if I gave you my glasses to examine my bare soul in these words

You will never understand…

If you saw the beauty of my lady, which is an extended reflection of me

You will never understand…

But you will understand the next time you wonder, Who Am I?

You will know this is Yalabe, which is Who I Am.

Drugs & Rehab

I’ve gone insane; rather I’ve placed my sanity in the care of another
And while it was the sane thing to do, it was also a declaration of trouble…

It’s like ecstasy, giving my body that rush of euphoria
Chemical X changing this horrid reality into utopia
Pill after pill I indulge, pushing myself closer to the edge
But this rush is not one at all, because I will never fall
So I thought…

Internally my body rages at lethal temperatures
But I brush my hands against the cold bumps on my skin
Shaky hands reach for what is now my lifeline
I tilt my head back and inhale the vapors, my eyes roll
I’ve surpassed the cloud of nine…I’m much higher
The height fitting for a King…yet I wear no crown
In a matter of days, I crash into the sea
Swimming with those who have fallen off their high into their somber state of being
They too have lost the appeal of life from their eyes
I must have more…

My body aches for it, and I can hear the faint beat of my heart
I’m an addict; addicted to the hardest drug of them all…LOVE
…I need help

Every breath I take to explain my problem, shaves a minute off my life
But still I deliver the truth…
I was never fond of religion, but between the cracks of her lips I found Heaven
Purpose was found…
Now a reformed Man, I walked amongst the lost ones
Those who have lost love…abandoning the light of the sun
Through their rhetoric, doubt circulated throughout my mind
Yet, with her Eyes, she could ease any thoughts and numb any pain
Her drug was LOVE…and she had conquered the inner sanctums of my soul
When she willfully surrendered her body to me…
My discovery was the treasure that entrapped me
As I explored, I now grew to love the slippery slopes of Hell
…This kind of pleasure had to be a sin, but for this I would bargain with the Devil

Losing my mind, I’ve become unstable in this place
And in her presence, I’ve become vulnerable…From a King to a mere Mortal
I now run away from what I seek…
That feeling of wisdom not yet gained, or…
Pleasure incomparable to all satisfying things…
LOVE is the hardest drug of them all, but it is also my Salvation

In This Skin Of Mine

Born of the sinful flesh of my father, while the holy blood of my mother pumps through these rugged veins
Take note that I am my fathers son but my mothers child
And all the while I struggle In this skin of mine
With its regal complexion and rough texture
Was being in this skin one of Gods sick gestures?
Ironically through my mothers religion I found the Bible, yet I also stumbled upon the cold depths of hell,
I ran away from redemption to play chess with the light-bearer
Strategic moves to regain the upper hand of some odd 22 years that had passed
And at last we reached a conclusion, there would be no victor just a Draw
I never knew my father and for all I knew he resembled the man I had played chess with
Once Siamese twins, now complete strangers, I bore a mark on my side to remind me of my origin,
Yet when I stumbled upon him…this man bore no mark, just a cold glare into my heart
I credit my Mother for raising me into a Man, but it was my Father that bestowed upon me that writ of passage before I uttered my first words
In my world he stood as Caesar, but taught me to be Brutus
When it came time for the Dictator’s demise…I couldn’t
My hands were fickle; unfit for the task…after all I Am a reflection of Him

In this Skin of Mine…

I walk the walk of my bestial ancestors, and speak the tongue of knowledge that rose from the African Basins,
Each step on the pavement into modernity, was a conviction of my weary soul
As I transcended into a Higher Class, bearing brandings of Movado and Louboutin
My life was as relevant as Sisyphus’s eternal task…
No matter how much I rise, my Bravado is severed, reminding me In this Skin of Mine…
…I am Black

In this Skin of Mine…

The choice between athleticism and intelligence was nothing more than a communal decision,
And at the age of 6 I was given my first toy…a basketball
365 days of the year was committed to playing the game
And at the age of 17 I could shoot, defend, and dunk
By 21, I found fame at the rim…
…I also found a NOOSE
In this Skin of Mine…

The Roots (pt. I)

My Birth Certificates claims my citizenship to the 50 stars, red, white, and blue

But what’s truer is I’m an Alien in familiar territory, I’ve lived my life in a strange country

For this democracy, I’ll give my soul in whole, yet it’ll constantly remind me, I am only one-third of my whole

Beating and dragging me closer to my demise, Justice has my back against the wall and my face on the ground; ironically this is when I’m more cognizant of my color

And here I thought we were all brothers?

Liberal with my words, conservative with my actions, they say I’m a threat being too far to the left, because I’m taking communion with the Marxist, and my words are corrupting the right

Do you understand my plight?

Looking to the sky to pray, my dark eyes fixated on the Red Doves, but ain’t nothing peaceful about bloodshed

I’ve been dead, revolution gone wrong at the time, now I stand a Martyr for the future

Body in shambles, but my soul is intact. Too strong to be broken, bring the torches and the rope…and it’s here I’ll stand and remain

Knowledge yearns to be found, at the reach of the youth it rest on their fingertips

Turn the mind into an eternal dictionary, because Webster consciously forgets to define societal struggles

Understand, through the veil on their eyes I was a primitive creature, writing a truth they couldn’t understand so, they deemed it hieroglyphics

To be more specific…I was less than Man, buy my ideas were great

Do you catch my drift?

I thought the Slave Ships been sailed, just a Modern Day Slave with different color faces assisting me in tending to the fields

For these revolutionary thoughts, I’ll lose a life, perhaps even love, but my passion for freedom will forever be the same

And when my life is requested to the grave…I’ll still continue to wander around as the Invisible Man

Just remember, on this Animal Farm, “All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others”

Good Guys Finish Last

You wanted a man that could stand up to your childish behavior, at the same time while having a child like nature to spawn laughter

You wanted a man to treat you like a Queen, whether you were Elizabeth or Victoria was to be determined

But you undermine him for the brute that makes you succumb to his action, wish, and desire

Tears flow from your eyes like an open faucet and you seek sympathy, I hate to be the pallbearer of reality as I bury your sorrows…

But this was a grave that you dug…

You see... It’s never quite good enough for the girl who plays Cinderella to be captivated by her Prince Charming

She’d rather be Bell and forever be stuck with a Beast…one that can’t comprehend the ways of taming a shrew

He then untangles your knots and leaves you loose…just another screw, missing a few…of her senses, but that’s just my consensus

It seems all the things you seek in your dreams can be reality, yet you bargain with Satan to change a man that can’t be changed and you call it…Love

For him I would keep the L word and say he lust to steal your most coveted treasure

But what do I know, I’m just a man and I’m sure you will say you know him better

You said you wanted someone to cherish you and make you feel warm, somehow you’ve settled for cold and bitter to satisfy your appetite…

The taste must be phenomenal for this anomaly to still occur. I must correct myself …this is now the trend

And where you could be his Pocahontas and he your John Smith, you refuse to meet him just around the river bend

Still fixated on squeezing every last bit of Right out of the Wrong one…your sorrow and pity has just begun

Your perfect picture isn’t so picture perfect, you lack the realization that you can’t play God and perfect the one that isn’t meant to be in the picture

Mr. Right fades to black because he lacked the height, or perhaps the complexion…You’d rather dabble with being someone’s nothing, than being his something…yielding to your stupid mentions

And where you seek the truth couldn’t be any further than Utopia, but the lies begin with not I, or Him, but rather you

Jedi mind tricks played on the One seeking the One, by Oneself

Can’t ever progress into the future, still stuck on the levels of hell you've created in your past… this is why Good Guys finish Last

Conflicting Thoughts (Black is Beautiful)

It’s a routine
This Struggling Start
Wake up…
Walk Downstairs…
Sit in the kitchen making the same ol’ breakfast that is never desired
My Day, transpires…
From none other than
Thoughts in my head
Spread on a white page…inspired by the way I was taught in first grade…
I read…
Trying to make sense of this book…published by my mind
Illustrated by the media
…Fill in the blank…
My Black is Beautiful because…
BING
…Shit
The Toaster goes off…just another day
Belly full of burnt eggs and black toast yet…
I’m suppose to believe black is beautiful…
Once again, convinced otherwise
It’s only as attractive as it’s demise

The time of day where the owls sing, spawns the birth of ill thoughts
But come time for sunrise to my surprise it shines bright… On my Regal Skin
Gradients and Shades of the finest textures
It seems God hired the most seasoned crafters…when he made Us…
Tailor-fitted to endure all levels of hell, and still I excel
And in my dullest form I am brighter than a prism
Even though my mind has been sentenced to death in societal prison
Still…Black is Beautiful

Mentally incarcerated…
Sentenced to Life…
Free me from… My Self…My Thoughts
My Skin…That’s Dark…
My Hair…It’s coarse…Us, Africans, were cursed
With a blessing in disguise
But why must my beauty hide
Help me to understand this Black without eyes

Words from the blind, when your eyes are closed darkness is your guiding light
And no man can truly define the meaning of beauty
For with his words the term has already been tainted, defiled, and irrelevant
But when I look at your skin, I find the relevance
Your “Nappy” hair is as enriched as Jerusalem
Eyes tell the stories of Kings and Queens
And the blood of Scholars flows through your veins
Yes, you are Black…In Fact…
It is a color only fit for those who have transcended space and time
… and survived

Remember this; under your flesh exist the “whiteness” of your soul that hides
Which means that your regal exterior is a symbol of pride
Wear it like you wear your clothes…protect it like you do your heart
I suffered the pain of these conflicting thoughts
So you could understand beauty is not seasonal
With these words, my seed will know that being Black is nothing less than Beautiful


*Collab poem by Myself and Deb Martins