Untitiled Poem
Cause we have Deana Dean, M'Reid, and Disco poetry
Drea and Ques are my wonder twins, The Song Bird is
My Black Canary Ahav is the enforcer.
And this might sound funny or unreal but the youth as well as the old
Need a new hero to feel, and
I'm just a Ghetto Dweller undercover, like Professor Xavier,
Putting the fake an weak on notice, if ya spittin garbage,
Don't post it
Destruction to my future,
Don't quote it,
Tricking my weaker minded sistah into abuse
I will expose ya, and iya never buy anything from me,
God! Will know that I shot the devil's sheriff an then I wrote a poem for ya.
My home is in the lad of the windy with my Pham, my friends, and my enemies.
Its where broken bottles are scattered on Southside streets,
Where Pimps, Perpetuate, Impossible, Possibilities, Perpetrating, implausible, fallacies
Produced as fantasy where impregnation and disease is a reality.
Trying to block out spirituality and to thee I sing.
Land of the pilgrim's pride, land where my ancestors died,
Land where the fake ride high
And yes the land where preachers sound like poets and not they are condemned
Ya got to be kidding me, Thousands of people on a Sunday
Contemplating taking their lives
Fuck seeing Monday and a cat with some swagger tells them
Joy will com in the morning giving them just a little bit more
to hold on to and you get spooked
cause they prove to be as humane as you
You cats are funny not smarter than the average dummy,
But it is the place I call home
In the land of the windy
Splittin fire, till the fire is extinguished in me
And then I will truly be Home.
