Cut Your Losses
I talk to God every day.
The only one who doesn’t think I’m tripping.
Just warns me, nudges me to learn my lesson.
I look at my family, armor on,
unsure which dad is walking through the door.
Ready for war over disagreements.
I don’t want our bond to die,
so I let a lot slide.
But when they treat me like an easy target,
I let loose. Attitudes mowed down with honesty.
The type that hurts,
makes them treat a man like he’s x’d
of the lives he raised and gave strength.
It’s hard to understand how love grows so intense
it makes people want to stick together
through storms that tear whole worlds apart.
And still, temptation finds a way in.
Sliding quiet, birthing an end,
digging new graves where trust once bloomed.
For the one who pulled your weeds,
helped root a future in strong, healthy,
mental and physical beliefs.
Even when emotions shifted like seasons,
love always returned to provide.
But now you’re the drought.
Watering a different crop.
And with every drop
on different lips, new pillows, new sheets,
cries from dreams ruined
the evidence of us,
our memories, our soil, is left to dry out and die.
Closer Than You Think.
Whatever you can’t tell your spouse or partner, you’re using to create a graveyard of bodies to seduce away boredom and fuck up your life like you were young.
Always beating them to the room where your phone is. Keeping it close to your chest and hidden like a heartbeat.
Only excitement can calm. Firing the synapses of temptation like lust is a new drug she can’t stop blowing and penetrating.
A man always sees. Quietly strategizing an end without decimating his family, similar to a landmine.
Destruction is closer than cheaters think.
Al Bundy
I thought about Carl Thomas, singing how “I wish I never met her at all,” as I sat heartbroken from a brief disagreement in the middle of a wonderful family moment. Wifey was delighted to be there with the children but looked at me like I was aggravation intruding.
I can choke on water and feel embarrassed instead of feeling a consoling hand on my back. That makes a man want to act dead wrong. And now she’s the only one in my corner since my mother and grandmothers are gone.
The Rough-House Gospel
Image from Pinterest EL BARRIO ESTÁ CALIENTE - @ALAMAYY
Some days, lately, feels like there’s too much to forgive. I’ve been a blues man since happiness died in that first drive-by. Thirteen turned both lucky and unhinged from reality, where ghetto youth become God’s children.
It had to be written. I know that day it was. We all believed. We could make it out. Cheered on and distracted by girls who played with ballers that didn’t bounce. They stood tall. Shrunk when the ground helped them rest. Left their girls weary, struggling to live with less. Sons lost without men with discipline.
Moms would rather disappear than look at you and see a distorted resemblance of him through ugly tears.
The school that made boys into men was the rough-house. Nana made you fight fair and square, then fed you both because angry men healed through food, love, and care. She warned to wear a condom when you needed to be tamed by more. And lived by a respectful woman's code. Flesh makes men weak, so make sure your main woman ain't allowing the world sneak peaks.
Grandpops chimed in with “young pups don’t need a litter slowing down their run.”
Couldn’t help thinking he was talking about us. Grandchildren he raised, while his own were running to be put down from their plague of addiction
Wounds healed slow. Tended with pours that stung. Made you official when you could handle an elder’s sacred life water.
I saw angels those days. Spirits with faces of love, peace, and danger. Every one of them for me. When you live a certain way, you try to manifest joy and feel pain.
That’s when I saw how my scripture was written unless I changed my story.
Verses of Love
Art from Pinterest
I went to a family concert and nearly cried the whole time. Sang the songs of an artist my children enjoyed their entire life, particularly my 18-year-old son. I felt the holes a father couldn’t fill as the stranger’s words made them feel at home.
I wondered if they believed I did the right things. If they understood the love, I worked to give. Or if they focus on disappointment when my sacrifices didn’t deliver and make every day feel like Christmas.
I kept my eyes closed to drown myself in the moment. They go fast as life carries on, with a flood of distractions, and a father’s needs are the heaviest ones.
Listening to the voice that remains precious to my young, his words express peace, love, fairness, equality, and action. Blacks and Irish have always had an interesting brotherhood. I never imagined Hozier would take me to church, make me feel I needed to do more, be more, and know more about my children.
I thought I preferred, or at least didn’t mind being alone, until I realized I was making my love unknown.
The Don of America’s Hood
Yeah boy…
The second turning started in 2024. When the world pretended it didn’t know what was in store. He was resurrected like the necromancer. A tyrant let loose for glutton, spreading madness and decay like a diseased king.
He thinks life’s only worth nuttin on bitches and money.
His good ol’ boys thought life was easy pickings. Didn’t realize they were getting buttered as the main dish. They lined up and voted for the slaughter. Masked up to eliminate veterans and grandparents. Some were the OG’s whose organizations built this country from blood and labored love.
The simple plan for a wannabe master. MAGA is code for MerikAs Ghetto bAstards.
Every day he tells the world to open up, or get on their knees for another slob with less power. He takes chances with your money and life. Feels he is worth more. Knows he’s above the law and dares you to prove him wrong.
He fabricates news and crimes. That’s how he keeps times hard. In his sick mind, he’s the world’s kingpin pimp. Gaming the world to be his main bitch. That’s how he Maxxxed out Epstein like his favorite young virgins.
The simple 'plan for a wannabe master. MAGA is code for MerikAs Ghetto bAstards.
Inspired by Compton's Most Wanted - Growing Up In The Hood (Boyz N The Hood Soundtrack)
Lies Spread Like Legs
Woes of the world. Everything's violent.
Conversations are had with the intent to embarrass. So-called leaders sentencing murder upon their own people to present their greatness as having no equal.
They plead with common sense to remain silent and clear the air for loud mouths talk’n shit. When you can’t smell the wretchedness, you won’t believe you’re being poisoned.
When you stand your ground, move and think with class and respect as a human is meant, you become a danger. Strange, in a world where Dr.s are educated in the school of influence. Prescribing ignorance, porn, drugs, and violence. Lies spreading like legs on fans-only to say men are weak because they don’t want a woman who’s had more training than a military squadron.
Everybody’s tight. Trust is rare. They think everybody else is hard up to give a raw deal. Being pussy and revenge minded makes the best men escape from their morals. The wrong discipline will break you faster than a sucker for love.
WARNING
Art from Pinterest
I just wanna squeeze on my Wizzes Ass and kiss on her lips. That soft world of pleasure can make the most miserable man reminisce…And remember why he chose the bitch.
If she ever thinks about an ex she deserves it rough and hard, then be sent on.
The only X’s allowed are from porn. But too much makes the O’s unwelcome, scarred, and boring. Closing your eyes, hoping for the sight of another body to risk it all for.
Need Sexual healing like Marvin, without being haunted by a father's understanding of the struggle manhood adorns.
Love spooks, and lulls. Those who lack and can’t hold on, fall to depths of the lost. Fighting your way back makes you damaged goods.
When I watched Billy Paul sing about Mrs. Jones, looking like a man who lost his soul on a train of blow, or trying to hide the tracks where love went off the rails.
Catch me at the right time I might pop one. Lust makes you wild with your tongue. I like’em pretty and on my shoulders waving to God. Body saying hallelujah, in codes seeded by love.
You’ve Been Warned.
Not What You Thought
She loves me. She loves me not.
When you test a man he will pass on his terms. Put your feelings on standby.
Some women say happy wife happy life. You will never hear that out of a satisfied man's mouth.
Happy spouse, happy house, means peace for everyone involved.
Men tell you what they want. But women get mad because they want to be loved for who they are, even when they don't like the changes, they want us to accept, as if maintaining and raising standards means you don’t love them.
Treat your relationship like a game, and watch ankles and hearts break.
Chasing what could've been stopped, and crushed when new, positive support gets under the dog to help'em win what he's been trying to get from you for so long.
Wayward Man
I speak to God about all the things I did. Things that brought strength, a troubled mind, peaceful moments, joy and required forgiveness.
Hurting on the inside and being tough is what feeds my kids and makes a man fuck his wife to get better after experiencing the worst life has to offer.
Marriage is a bridge through savage and kind worlds. It lures you to cross for good. Signs of seduction don’t show all that will be lost and burned.
Trying to teach them to be worth more than what the world claims is valuable means god wants me in heaven because good men and their valuable lessons are omnipotent.
The Pull Pit
Art from pinterest
Pull Pit. Granny tithing to the deacon so he can pull up in a new Lincoln and stick his dick in those struggling to connect with the lord when they're feeling weak' ends loneliness doing extra work, keeping the books, praying God forgives the crooked.
Allergic
Art from Pinterest
“Some bruises show up early-and stay with us far too long.”
Today I noticed a different pain.
Remained calm as a man with a plan who’s been through the hell of infidels.
Both struggled through a bastard's pain,
But only I can also see a mother's strain.
The labor of being picked last nurtures the bruises we carry.
You run away like someone allergic to love, thinking you will poison the batch.
We didn't fall far from the tree.
Bruises showed up early for me.
We tried to heal sweet and allowed our soil to sour delivery.
Movin’ Too Fast
Image from Pin on Portrete
Passing through.
Look out for the stranger finding his way.
He has no fear of the danger he creates.
He’s just passing through—
what damage could words, feelings, emotions, and actions bring?
A release for him: responsibility, regret, the disease that makes zombies.
Like him, tormented.
The devil comes in many forms.
One minute he felt right.
For a short time, you shut off your mind
because it needed to feel right in the dark.
When you thought to turn back,
mourning sickness caused the fall.
1 Foot in 1 Foot Out
No man can hide from life. Whether fully or ill-prepared, your fears and cares will be exposed.
How do you want it to go?
Growing old in a job that doesn’t love you.
Growing old in a relationship where everybody’s fucking good, somehow, some way, but you’re dealing with attitudes that rob your cradle every single day.
The beliefs you expose yourself to daily make you man or baby.
Be careful who you shake hands with. Too much filth from handling drugs or dicks. Dying to feel special and independent.
People wonder why I don’t smile much.
I don’t feel right with all the truth I stomach, watching others grow from the lies they won’t give up.
It’s heartbreaking to follow the rule Nikki Giovanni told James Baldwin.
They say it’s how you keep the love from drying up.
Men will always give it, just not to a woman who runs her mouth too much about things that don’t improve life and love.
That’s how side pieces get involved.
Fucking violent love.
Letting loose outside the home.
You’re in danger when your main puts the silencer on.
If another man gives your woman advice, and she takes it more to heart than the one you gave her...
The death sentence will be slow, like the brother from The Green Mile, killing your genius and beautiful spirit slow.
.
A Whole Soul
When suffering sounds like music to your ears, you need to get your check up and move out. Health banks on what you believe. What’s in the blood these days. Everybody’s sweet on disrespect, and ready to die from neglect.
My whole life I've been blessed when I'm open to the truth and hold onto being strong when lies got the best of me.
Reconciliation feels like you're burning on both ends. It's necessary to change one, even though you can never go back to the beginning.
I'm my family's keeper. My skin and my makeup make me a brother to the lost. It's hard to keep yourself whole through that chaos, so you have to hold the good in your heart. It feels like an attack; your inner god is protection, if you don’t use yours, you’ll always be suspected. Angels sin too and pray you see it as protection.
Dirty Smoke
Dirty smoke.
You feel numb, like an old-timer’s favorite drug.
Hustling illusions, until you pull yourself up and feel empty.
Wellness makes you hollow. Feel it in the air.
When you make errors and never admit mistakes, it means even after the time of your life, you will bury love.
Everybody wants to be wild.
But animals who ain’t loyal to the pack get put down.
You remember love you can't see.
You promised not to bring that version to life.
What A Day
The heavens open up for me every morning.
I see the great sky and the sun, shining on me Because I AM the one for my family.
The Fair One.
I'm from a time where rules and discipline kept you alive.
Being immoral meant you were disloyal.
Being gay wasn't a fad. Men didn't switch to get a bag.
When someone tried to run game or test your balls you shot the fair one first. A warning before your love one’s heart hurt
In Sync
What's your address, Misery Lane? I'm just playing. I stay out of that hood. I don't want my neighbors to hold grudges like me. I'm learning how to behave. That old American way.
I was told by a rich man: "Blacks don't get to the billions because they're greedy for the wrong things."
We have to address these issues before we move, because careless living turns dream homes into wastelands.
Intimacy is fierce and angry, like a man trying for a woman who cries wolf, then opens herself to be wounded. I'll give you my marrow, hold it in your life source, and help heaven come to earth.
Real men hold the motherload, and still uplift until you sneak and shift to loosen our grip. When we let go, you say it's our fault.
I want nothing more than to respond and take account for the mess. The dinner table is full, but everybody eats like they want to be somewhere else. Closed by distance of laying near empty love. I want good pussy and a tender hug, like your caring ain't just for show.