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

Revolution

The Revolution will not be televised…
Now is the time to Rise Up
Wise up, let the mind stand up
We in a state of crisis, mind paralysis
They want to know what’s the urgency?
It’s a state of emergency
Mental towers being knocked down by media planes
The common sense of the masses locked down in concentration camps
And the ones with the real thoughts being exiled
Told us resistance was futile…
Welcome To America

Open the iris of your ears and observes your surroundings,
Open the eardrums of your eyes and hear your surroundings,

The diamonds we lust for has a whole nation dying,
Infinite bloodshed for wealth…. show me the way to Zion
Indirectly pulling triggers, we mass murdering
Manufacturing future Killers and Drug Dealers
Not enough Doctors and Teachers
Instead we praise the ones who doctor the contracts and deceive the people
A Lawyers mind, the way of the nation, they not working for you or me…their boss’s name is Capitalism…

We kill for fashion, beauty, and sex
When it’s all gone tell me what’s left…
We rocking the latest trends from the sweat shops
Just to say we in on the Hype, and only cop from the best spots
Something in our blood that makes us idolize material possessions
Instead of being wise and investing
The injured heart of a young dark skin girl, who was told her ebony skin wasn’t appealing,
Want her to shed like a snake, gain a lighter complexion
She’s what society calls…Perfection
She got mouths to feed…So by all means necessary, her mentality is X’s philosophy
Showered by Washington, Hamilton, Jackson, and Benjamin
She’s trying to make ends meets…but she’s dying inside
Nobody told her she could do better

So, when it’s all gone tell me what’s left…

For a necklace, somebody went neck less
A mother lost her son, and a brother got reckless
Copped a gun, went searching for people who did it
Two shots fired, a son just lost his father
The police look around and say why bother…this is the cycle of homicide
Open your eyes… Open your eyes
We at War… with ourselves
Africa isn’t the only place with Genocide
Welcome to America

I Am Hip-Hop

A Wise man told me that Music is in all of us

It’s the tune that keeps our heart beating every second of every hour

That keynote that makes us vibe with the masses in our head

The strings to our limbs that control us like puppets

Yet, Music can both create and destroy us at the same time…

It was my Genesis and Destruction

I was about nine, when I heard DMX, and became a fiend

Thinking that calling women bitches and ho’s was the right thing

Because I somehow was confused, or perhaps it was he whom had it misconstrued

Cause my Mother wasn’t a bitch...

She was a Queen of many proportions, always preaching U.N.I.T.Y.

Yet I still injected lyrics in my arms like a crack fiend waiting for his next fix

Until the well ran dry and I looked for bigger and faster drugs

It was then I stumbled upon Pac, and I thought Me Against The World was the soundtrack to my life

A short skinny suburban gangster imitator, yelling out the word Nigger

Not knowing the impact of the word and how it condemned my brothers and I to an eternal prison in the wandering depths of society,

And...Without a Reasonable Doubt…Jay taught me that a life of crime could be the come-up,

Instead of telling that little boy back then that it was a gateway to suffering, pain, and death

A very lonely road, where the last time you see your brothers and sisters are in newspapers and on milk cartons

There were ample nights where I wanted to clean out my closet like Eminem

But I just did not have it in me…

We were cut from different cloths and although it seemed our feelings were similar, I just could not disrespect my mother for she had also been my father

I too know what it’s like to be a bastard…

Years of music and the lyrics mold like a gargantuan anthology

Coded by emotions they become easy to find, play, pause, and rewind

There exists instructions guides on how to rob a bank, the successful ways to shoot your brethren, and pimp out your sisters for a profit

Yet I still quest with my tribe…blasting my Hip-Hop

It wasn’t too long before I was familiar with the colors of the rainbow, specifically red and blue

Somewhere along with the times it became cool for a Crip to drop a Blood but not shed a tear for a brother lost to black on black violence, staying true to their flag

Dam…but I love my music

A friend of mine named Nasir, told me a story were I had to Rewind a days events to get the gist, turning my mind upside down but I was left intrigued, until I became a rebel to the turning clogs of society that rendered me useless, and found myself being what I wanted to…be

With my music glaring in between the grooves of my brain I never found it Ludacris in disturbing the peace

But I found it ridiculous to tell a bitch to move; because that same bitch was a sister, someone’s daughter, or even a Mother, only made a female animal by my choice of diction

And while you probably think I’m rejecting decades of cultural creativity, I reassure you that I am not…. just pointing out alternative messages behind the lyrics we all sing aloud and rejoice like church hymns.

No matter what we do the lyrics do not change and neither do the words of the Wise Man…We Are Hip-Hop…. I am Hip-Hop

To Whom It May Concern

To Whom It May Concern,

Life is but a blur that most struggle to grasp

A lot of should of, would of…but did not

Could not comprehend the yellow brick road that paved your path

Caught up in the tsunami of fantasies, that living your reality becomes the tragedy

Everybody always feels they know best…but to follow their own advice is the test

The individual soul never appeared so dull in our generation

Mass production of Mattel Barbie’s and Hippies to do the bidding of Mass Media

Yet you chant the word…Originality

Research your style on Google; see where you fall on the list of thousands similar

You never thought of being a follower, but now the term looks familiar

I’m sick and tired…

Talk is for the cheap and actions are privileged to the rich

Your quest for love now makes you a hypocrite

Before you could never be that girl…

Calling her a variety of synonyms that resonate with dumb

Yet your endeavors place you in a similar situation

All of a sudden your mind and her mind think alike

I guess that’s all to the superstition of female intuition

Even with clear signs of you not being his Eve…you remain

And in a few days, maybe weeks, probably a month, then a year…or two…

You finally proclaim that…that “Nigga ain’t shit”

Reality is that it takes a fool to know a fool

Those looking for T.V. love dive into shallow pools

I’m sick and tired…

Pretentious gangsters attending college

Stemming from a background considered the urban lifestyle

Only hustle in your repertoire is that of using Mommy and Daddy

But you stay fly… Brand name labels have become your fetish

To add to your “swag”…you sag your pants because that’s the trend

Only thing about you is Ignorance…

What happened to intellect?

Not speaking about memorizing all the latest hip hop songs

Or even reciting the various names in your sneaker collection

But then again what I am asking may be deeper than rap

I’m just tired…

Sincerely,

An agitated Poet

Statistics: The Story

Mother gave birth to a…

Ruler of a future kingdom, the heir to her dreams and aspirations

Regal skin that matched the brightness of a Black Panther

With a body built to endure…all levels of pressure

For he would have to walk through Hell to reach Zion

Out the Womb, his birth certificate read Black Face

But his soul stemmed from his Ancestral tribe

Diagnosed to have a feeble mind

Doctors told Mom, he would only understand the dynamics of crime

The Young King was too small to be alive

Nurses recommended a chicken and watermelon diet for him to survive

As he got older, he was told his brain was having complications

It was too small to comprehend the knowledge taken in

Doctors prescribed IGNORANCE for medication

…that was the best remedy

To keep him out of trouble, his mother was advised to put him in sports

He excelled on the field, court, and track

But in the classroom is where he slacked

Coach said, “It doesn’t matter, you were born to play…plus you’re black”

When he got older, Mother told him to proceed with caution

She didn’t want him to become another Statistic in Society’s functions

Sports came to an end when he got injured, and somehow all his friends withered away

His new outlet was hanging with the strays

Pants sagging and speaking the engrained language of the black man…called slang

He figured he never had anyone to have his back; it was best to join a gang

His ID expired, it was time for renewal

The New Name read COON

A four-letter word, symbolic to the demise that was soon to come

A week later…he died

No news would be televised

He headlined a local paper, Title read…Just Another Statistic

Revelation Of Man

Years of trying to understand what the heart couldn’t comprehend

And here I stand before her in amazement

Knowing that I’ve come to this conclusion solely on time and experience

My Revelation was Maturation…

Simple equation of x plus y = fatal attraction

Next step was only linked to infiltration

No time for pacing...

Legs spread, I move through an ocean with all kinds of sweet descriptions

She breathes heavy, but my ears are too deaf to listen

I’m on a mission.

Lips connect yet it means nothing…

For I am the plaque, and just like that, Her Rome fell in a day…Goodbye to the Golden Ages

No room left here for the unwanted to stay

I left Her Heart in shambles and ruins

It’s now known as Ground Zero…

To her I’m a terrorist but somehow I walk out feeling like a Hero

And so I thought no harm was done

Until I saw in the eyes of a believer, a Broken Sun

At that moment I knew, I killed love for Her because of the way I lust for Her

I was a murderer, the one who pulled the trigger of the gun

What was so precious for Her, I played with for fun

The first time I heard the hymns of sorrow being sung

I then learned y = mx plus b, would keep me and the next Her on a straight line

Even if we were on different slopes, our paths would be intertwined, forever aligned

When the equation changed…so did I

Eyes locked and on first sight feelings sprung like a New Moon

Old equation intact but I had to retract; I had the chance to start anew

Her inner thighs intrigued my curiosity, at such a fierce velocity

My former-self begging to escape

But I yearned of a new Man with different plans

Penetrate and stimulate the libido of her mind before I aimed for Her pants

Make the G-Spot of Her brain need and crave me

And even then, remaining cautious as I tread Her Holy River

Once a taker, now a giver

My transformation was the realization She was my Redemption

This is the Revelation…of Man

Death on Original Boulevard

Deep into the night is when art is born

Never taking shape nor form, just making its existence known

And within a blink of an eye…

An individual has been deemed the creator of their perspective art

The soul bound to a canvas…

Where words become visuals, and pictures become full-length novels

Eternalizing a story from the mind of its Originator

Star gazing off the stoop of where it all begins

I witness all that passes on this street

Concepts fly in the air, and dreams are the roots to the trees

Stones of ambition pave the roads, and the future provides the light for me to see

I walk these streets every day and every night, obeying the rules

Creativity governs everything on this side of town

Every once in awhile, outsiders come to these parts

Searching and yearning for something to make them stand out

They slaughter the concepts and pick ideas from the local trees

Masquerade themselves as a Creator, to get closer to Creativity

Blending in the crowd of creative geniuses, they prowl the streets

Little by little, art loses its genuine glow

Over shadowed by vacuous duplicates and false claims to its origin

By the ones that still remain creatively virgin

I’ve seen the Mona Lisa painted in over ten different versions

Originality is in need of purging…

I saw the thief for myself, and I couldn’t hold back my emotion

As a creative mind, I had to approach him

Knowing who I was, he started to run

But on Original Boulevard, I am the Law and The Gun

Alike minds gathered from far and near, to view the bloodstained streets

Just like that the thief was killed…murder with a righteous cause

A momentous persecution…sending a clear message

There will be no thieves allowed in Creativity’s presence