ignorance is freedom (4/30)

I smiled at my little cousin who thought
we could buy him whatever he wanted because
money was free...

Ignorance is freedom
it is peace of mind
and the answer
if i only knew of it
I could live effortlessly
but I see no sense in not knowing
so intelligence becomes
a never ending cycle
of failure

Little did he know
money isn't free
but it does buy freedom
how I'd wish to be as ignorant as he

same old old (3/30)

Saw Craig today for the first time in weeks
talked on bar runs last night
red eyes and left feet
how Sherry had to be carried home
on 6 feet and 6 inch heels
who he took home and who he didn't(couldn't)
and throw-back hoes
and who got chose
in this game we play Thursday Nights.
He hinted it would be me next time
I hinted a foot up his ass.
Laughed 'til 12:23
when the bus pulled up and cut words short.
Granted familiar goodbyes with hopes of playin Friday.
To class he went and there I waited.
Saw the wheels of the bus go round and round
playin same old same is the same old old.

sucka nigga (2/30)

feel the kick back beat loopin baritone tones
like
hey sucka nigga...whoever you are

and if you are
be sure to sleep on it
like sweet dreams re-seen
recite every meaningless word
like blank scripts
till we put it on repeat and
pull it apart put it back
hear it for the first time
say it

sucka nigga...nigga nigga?

form lips to try and spit it
lips cracked and chapped and nailed shut
shuts calm calls out
so scream it scream it

SUCKA NIGGA!...WHOEVER YOU ARE

release that heat that heat
let the stress leak
out your ears
catch it with your hands
hold it mold it throw it
use it as term of endearment
hate it while you find it
start to flinch as you try to say it
but
your lips are like a ooowop as u start to spray it

sucka nigga(to fade) nigga...nigga

holding this pen (1/30)

I am a complete hater
In every sense
When I see holding hands
Or clenching fists
that find and show a reason of use
I cannot

My pen can prove its point
but won’t give the world
Its verification
Unless they see or
begin to comprehend
my illegible chicken scratch

and if I grip and lift my pen
It becomes no mic
unamplified
and fails in comparison

So still I hate
Those hands that hold
More than my pen
can seem to make

a long way gone (to ishmael beah)

Their words, I feel
their words
through me they run
like tattered feet
swift and unkind to the eye
when rebels come by,
telling me what I know
and do not know,
cutting me like dry wind,
machetes,
surfacing from the corners
of my mind:
memories and memoirs
far from done,
showing me that this luck is
sparing me and unworthy am I
to wake up this morning
a long way gone.

cool?

Reality is shaped by perception

How do I not see
past your painted tees
and logo-ed caps that
scream more of the cool you
framed and less of the
originality you claimed?

I will try and perceive you more
than you would me
because I know that
the man makes the clothes
and the clothes make the man-
cooler than he will ever be...

and I wear rags
or what ever I could not make...

Tell me what you are and
I won't believe you
because I see you and
can't perceive meaning past those words

reign

Don't fall on
me or
Graze my skin
How I can't bare the burden of
Millions of your fighters,
One entity,
That clean me out

When outside I
am you and you I
Taste you I do
Mouth wide open I starve
But never grow thirst, carve
A hole in my chest
Before I drown, caress
My lips and my cheek
As I overflow, and my lungs creak
Ribs crack and inside seep
To the ground onto my feet
With the rest of you, that i could not throat,
I float
and you take over me, I
Am you and you I

Disguise my eyes
Wipe my tears clean
And rinse the salt trails
That track down my face
And leave me reason to believe
I had to surrender

f*ck you too

to anyone who thinks they can just
pick up a pen and
personify meaning
like its simplicity's brother...

f*ck you,

those who think a mic is made
to deliver a blank package...

f*ck you too.

don't even excuse my French
cause we've been speakin this
foreign language since day 6
after us came it
like words from our rib


we've pierced mental
then bled
in attempt to speak it
and write it
we become it
so that what we've shed
is dialect and definition...

never a small price paid in half
or overdue

so f*ck you
... and your paper-cut English too.