Role model
I told my children not to do what I do, unless they want to hurt people, and fuck shit up, cause pimpin ain’t easy but it sure it fun.
My wife has been avoiding me since the first of the month.
In My Lifetime
Everybody knows
They’re scared.
Scared you won't be, and that you’ll find out why. They greet you, hostile, to help the rising fall. introducing lessons-but
Everybody knows ego, and they say “you’re trippin"
Everybody knows what I'm saying, but say I translate different. The words I pick, were not meant for their type of ill-spread lies, to make the dumb literate.
Cursed in failure. They raise hell and bail, for a crime they caused but I pay for. In this place Everybody knows. They want me to go.
When I decide to leave, tired from fighting for what everybody knows is mine. I gotta mind, and it makes everybody lose theirs.
Everybody acts surprised, my body seizes when flares fly from hands. I just want to go-home-to my family. I am celebrating birth today.
I'm everybody's favorite holiday, lit up every night, somewhere shadowing my color and vivacity.
They say "don't you dare."
I say, "I have to."
I ask everybody " what would you do?
YOU ALL KNOW.
Everybody pretends they don't.
Like that pain of the family junkie, you cross the street to avoid helping, moving away you don’t have to see proof.
Everybody knows. They see you.
Manchild Running Wild
Image from Between the World and Me Book by Ta-Nehisi Coates-adapted into an HBO documentary
Lord let me make it tonight. Don't let my star dim under this moon. Light the way. I love you but don't wanna see you soon.
Prayer for my N.O.R.E.’$ (Niggas On The Run Eating)
Huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh. Running. Crushing leaves, reminded him of stomping and breaking bones of intruders.
“I’m a-live-nigga-right”, he told himself. Happy he made it out.
Panting! Yelling! Footsteps!
Chambering, of the undertaker’s favorite gift, jolted him back to the present.
Huh, huh, huh, huuunhhh!
Sounds his girl made before she came. Love, sometimes, brought the same rush as hate.
Remembering his last visit to the strip club. He and his lady were on the outs that night. He needed action to avoid a jackin’ spree. Throwing his hand was a vice that gripped, til they were broken. Betting it all that he was thorough enough to be rewarded without his bread, stuffing deep in lips and cheeks. Instead, he left with hook’in money.
Down an alley, animals make home, he pounded in a fit- like he was trying to beat shame. Her moans, now that he was really, really, thinking back on it, were stroking for a tip much bigger than his.
He wondered where she was. Cold lonely nights are made for forbidden love. The only time its forgiven.
Huh, huh, huh, huh-chest heaving. Breaths departed like stolen hope of brothers on corners, warmed from hot blood, splashing through open mouths.
Wise, told himself "Don’t give up." “Cause they aint."
Staring at billboards and skyscrapers. Heights he reached once on a plane, from the earth’s medicine, and from rooftops where he soaked in the creators’ gifts. Looking down on the scattered, packed like roaches and rats. He wondered. Imagined stories of the life’s he would never enter. He hoped all his niggas’dem, would survive, in a city where the economy boosts after color dies. He thought- nothing but white lies. We spread them, then dead each other.
Huh, huh, huh, huh, huh…
FUCK! I don’t wanna…
Wise hid in a building. Hoping to avoid a congregation from the nosey lights. The crunch of broken glass, sounded like a swarm, on this nervous quiet night. The storm of a setup was the only news Black folk never heard of.
Waiting, silent as lawmakers, ready to bang victims raw with their gavel.
He began again, "please god"…
Then decided, chasing spirits was the end of movements.
Wise shut his eyes with gentle anguish as if summoning a migraine to end. Then crouched and duckwalked across the house to the furthest room without stopping.
He thought- Why couldn’t I do this on the wrestling team? I would’ve made varsity my first year.
He saw underwear and socks spread across an open oven, where cold hands that rubbed clothed skin, were heated to regain feeling. The whole house was painted with the aroma of struggle, survival, and dope. Where baking soda made foam that cleaned and rotted teeth. Anything out of place in this, made occupants flip, spazzing like mothers who lost sons.
His own father was in a home that made the domesticated wild. Settled in a cage where bastard’s escape children. Men with young minds, gambling life instead of holding their babies.
When Wise thought about his father, his palms itched like a dirty interaction that gave him a rash.
Before his father broke out, so he could run loose, like the women lusted, but un-loved, who drained wallets, and sucked the life out of marriages faster than cheaters come, and played victim- he told his son,
“don’t nobody owe you. And if that's how you survive then everyone you deal with will own, you.”
Wise took it as parent code for BOY! You got your chance to be a man, NOW! Instead of once in a while, when he lifted, did some pushups, smelled funk from his pits, or after his first piece of pussy, survived his first fight, and figured out how to handle himself, or got mad after believing promises that were never kept.
-So, basically the motherfucker was saying-
“ain’t no excuse that help you.”
Wise knew his father was trying to clear the karma of his DNA. And wondered if it was high blood pressure from seasons of misdeeds and hard living, diabetes, or just pure hopelessness and stupidity.
Angry for attention with the mind of a young and wed, Wise kicked out a window to test his importance. Then jumped out and ran.
More footsteps and panting. They were on him again!
He heard horns beep, tires skid to a halt.
He ducked into an alley. A morgue for the forgotten. Wild eyes, reflecting danger, curiosity, envy. And the occasional pretender- waiting for manipulated love to not be a dead end-jerked him to a slow walk.
Wise placed his hands- palms out, to present peace. Ready to leave them resting that way.
He was transported back to his time in juvie. Rodney "mouse," Carlson, welcomed him by promising to knock out his perfect teeth, to replace the one he'd lost. The remaining were buttered yellow. His mouth smelled like dehydrated piss, strong as rat urine. And despite his hairiness from very early puberty, he had the smoothest skin, which reminded Wise of a woman who told him;
“Take your first pee of the morning in the shower. Get some on a washcloth and wash your face with it.
Chuck “bulldog” Hatton- had jowls, like a fat old man, and spit when he talked. His tone was a bark, like a miserable parent who yelled every word.
Tess, the female counselor, had a high ass, and pranced when she walked. Her long thick braid, swayed, controlled with the forceful charm of a snake. Everything she wore was eXtra, eXtra, eXtra, tight. She kept the boys in heat, with her cat print. They didn’t need to get their hands on magazines-just to visit her desk. A glance of her adjusting in her seat, the spread of legs was a flash of Porn. The boys leaked milk before they got to the bathroom, or under sheets.
The food... He tried to be grateful for it. Like kids who grew up in church, or with strict-caring parents. But the ones locked down with him seemed like the bad-asses, who never got theirs bruised. The ones who talked back, even cussed parents out because they felt rules meant slavery. Until he got to know them, and peeped their quirky fears, of hugs and but slaps after scoring. How they entered all doors and went to sleep last, or always stood with their backs against the wall, protecting an exit-wounded by perverts. The abusive, natural, and foster-ones that produced strays and runaways. Who dreamt of buying houses for those that hug and burning those that punched love away.
The night before Wise’s release, he had to run through THE TOMB. His fellow juvies lined up with lumpy pillowcases, zippers and fists. Their eyes filled with a happy excited rage. Sure, HE was Leaving, but they were held in. He had to make it through to reach to the womb of a new life.
By the time he pushed passed the blockers, he was too wobbly and senseless to care, or realize his dick was plunged in blood. Tess was his first. It was their secret. She knew he wouldn’t be able to hold it in.
When he started to seize, she pulled him deeper and said, “I’m naturally protected.”
He had no idea what she meant back then.
A tug at his pant leg, kicked him back into the moment. He made it through the alley faster than the shots that sent him to juvie and the one he parted with.
"Even wolves know when to retreat" his Grandaddy had told him.
Heavy footsteps pounded pavement- the city’s graveyard, covering man’s rage. Grey slabs, leading towards a coffin, classroom, or cell. Blocks stacked with weight he couldn’t hold. Where guardians and siblings needed an angel to protect home.
Rain flowed like tears from the blues of his Nanas favorite songs. The type that whispers to bones. Pulsing like nostalgia from heart break, spot raids, and bullets stuck in flesh. Reminders of keloids rubbed tenderly by girls who molded ugly into sexy, as long as they were fucked good and ate better than the hungry chicks hunting for leftovers.
Each drop was a knock-on dreams and nightmares. Fears men don’t open in front of any face that could reflect disappointment. Doors shut, because looking ahead, and back on mistakes, didn’t provide the strategy to overcome they visualized.
Wise was limping now. His adrenaline expired like an old hustler flirting with his last dime. Not moving too much, cause what he carried sank deep like water, and the souls it holds. And the rush he got from his Ruger- weaving, bobbing, dodging, conducting bodies.
Huh-huh-huh-huh- shit!.
He bent over-hands on knees-just for a second.
Gulping after escaped breath.
Huh-huh-huh-huh-huh-head up, hydrating.
Splashing puddles with sloppy feet, can’t run swift when you’re not looking. The ripple was evidence for the pursuers on him.
This was the only time he wished they would sue, instead of shooting. Dimming stars, falling on courts, pleading to juries crowding stands to cheer the loss of another minor who didn’t make it too.
“Man, that boy wasted his life!” “But at-least the neighborhoods are getting cleaned up- so our kids can suffer in private and safely from prescription drugs.”
Wise envied how smart people got rich from beings dumb!
Kill dem, don’t breed dem, fuck dem, don’t help dem, don’t be like…
These people pretend not to know. But the streets watch, hold strong, and tell, stories truer than the news. The only thing Wise hated was snitches. They made prison tenure mandatory for Black corner businesses.
More than that tho, he despised pillow talk, it made bitches on both sides.
At that moment he stopped. He knew love was lost.
DumpDumpDumDumSlumpedHuhHuhHuh…!!$$?? Find Life Hold on Stay with Stay strong Wait Dont Go Get Up Keep Going Noooo
Mental
I used to hate the rain. It reminded me of bullets and tears, watering sorrows.
The greyness made me think of cold skin. Embalmed flesh sliding into hearses, away from nightmares. Failed dreams painted with positivity I couldn’t stomach. Hard times I escaped and enemies I tried to take with me.
Now I see the grey as a protector, giving life and clarity to seasons of recovery.
Protein Shake
I walked into the gym, and they were talking, about getting “protein from Nut Milk!”
Is this why my gym is always packed?
The Look
The look that makes women shiver.
The look that makes bad-men shook
Bad memories sliced through like a train. If they caught him, he would end up on the tracks, somewhere, missing. He was out of breath.
Body and feet cooking…
They rushed him like a wave. Spinning and flipping from all angles. He was planning a vacation, but not this. Not now. He had kids to pick up. A girl and his side chick too.
He thought of begging, then remembered that has never saved a soul.
They dragged him to the alley. The hoods arena. Fans cheered, children awed, rivals evened the score.
The bullets lit him on fire. Left his body and feet cooking…
Image From the movie “King of New York”
How to Cope after an Overdose
How to cope after an overdose
I burst with the excitement of a virgin. You recognized me with the glimmer of a stranger. I recognized you from equal parts feeling and smell, making my senses tingle like braces skinning a penis. A man never forgets that.
Or the jabs of nausea from the stench of burnt smoke, lungs, and plastic.
Ten years had passed since our last contact. You were high from the drugs you provided my love during her overdose.
Now it’s my turn to feel the excitement of death.
The Good Ones
Good parents say SHIT!-Because they don’t put up with any.
They steal- canned goods, heads of lettuce, and hearts. They hide pain, and make meals heavily seasoned with love, so their children won’t know the taste of suffering.
Some smoke, some drink, finding their way through vices and prayers.
Some watch porn, discuss sex, and disgust their children with conversations. They show anger and affection. And teach how to balance being firm and gentle.
Good parents forgive, because they know family heals.
Good parents say FUCK! because they know what it takes. They raise love through mistakes. When dis-respected, they allow you to choose peace or violence.
Good parents are felons too. They know an excuse is a seduction for losers and fools. They try to provide heaven on earth but mis-calculate their own worth.
The Dark Side
Up late. Listening to The Dark Side of the Moon. Thinking of what I will regret, so I don’t act, on it. Too soon? Only a few days in, the new year hasn’t given me a reason to be careless. But it inches in like the plead and whisper of a hymen killer.
Saying “ I promise not to hurt you".” Then, excited at the penetration, deep thoughts bang for a desired ending.
Hungover
He reminisced over his last visit to the strip club. Him and his lady were on the outs that night. He needed action to avoid a jackin’ spree. Throwing his hand was a vice that gripped til they were broken. Betting it all that he was thorough enough to be rewarded without his bread, stuffing deep in all lips and cheeks. Instead, he left with hook’in money.
Down an alley, animals make home, he pounded in a fit- like he was trying to beat shame. Her moans, now that he was really, really, thinking back on it, were stroking for a tip much bigger than his.
From my Freaky Friday Collection
That’s Game
Black Father’s advice
Image from the movie “FRESH”
Knowledge, forgiveness, and inner strength can cure the venom of any snake.
Be careful though-
to never think you are immune to their blow.
Some allow themselves to be charmed
they have different degree levels; they are doctors of beautiful harm.
Their disguise is a fantasy of paralyzing belief.
You become stuck. Un-able to escape the lie, and watch your life slip away.
This may seem morbid, or dramatic, but if you ain’t careful, deception and destruction can make you an addict.
You should never play a losers game, cause you will be ashamed if you end up victorious.
The warning sign is if it makes you embarrassed to tell your friends and parents. That's damage you need to avoid. You just have to make the choice.
(Excerpt from my upcoming book "Mom said go talk to Dad"
Prayer for my N.O.R.E.’s (Niggaz on the run eatin)
Prayer for Niggaz on the run
Lord let me make it tonight. Don't let my star dim under this moon. Light the way. I love you but don't wanna see you soon.
A Fathers Pursuit
Image from movie “Pursuit of Happyness”
One day I will disappoint you
I will work hard for your forgiveness,
I will do whatever it takes-
but, unfortunately, children always pay more than the debt is worth for their father’s mistakes.
Please remember I am also learning my way, raising and protecting another human being is an enlightening journey created from every decision made.
Be careful how you play the game of life
Winning at all costs is not worth ruining your name.
Excerpt from my upcoming book "Mom said go talk to Dad"
DOLEMITE SANTA
Freaky Santa
image from www.teepublic.com
He will fill your chimney.
He will stuff your stocking.
Down by the tree.
Near the warm fire.
He will have you shivering.
His sack is heavy.
Unwrap his package to get your gift.
He will have you singing year round "I wish it was Christmas"
(From my Freaky Friday Collection)
White Niggers
White Niggers
My mind is dangerous. Especially with all the voices.
What!? They say
Nigga, go get it.
Nigger, behave.
BRO! You already know the way.
BOY, get out the way-out my face.
Dawg, if a bitch nigga try to finesse, put it to his neck, hand or boot. If he a smart mouf, make sure he spit blood and teeth you knocked loose.
Fuck that. RUN, them white boys got guns.
All of em’ wannabe KKKowboys shooting indi…and, schooling white kids to kill all color’ed niggers. That American history x curriculum, to kill Malcolm’s and Kings, Replacing African Keys. Forcing a fight, then claiming they’re scared for their life.
Killing their own to make room, beating their women, manipulating their seeds. Government funded, when sprouted, ready to kill everything.
White Niggers is the realest. FEARLESS. The only race encouraged and allowed to attack their own country, cause they wanna be free, from the Black’s they need.
Parents War
Great parenting advice
Don’t let your parents, or peers, fears become your own.
Don’t allow them to turn the completion of your dreams into regrets and tears
some may mean well, some may just want another person’s failure story to tell
Because they think it makes their own a better sell.
Truth is, some people lose their desire as they age
Youthful ambition, mixed with a dream and focused vision are a necessity for happiness as you grow old
Hold on and keep chasing them, no matter how slow they unfold.
Excerpt from my upcoming book “Mom said go talk to Dad”
No Bad Energy(Soldiers story)
Lord, if you listening,
Devil... Now I'm whispering
I prepare by sipping water and gin. Fresh breathed and hydrated. You cannot smell my sin. And I don't wine, but..
Lord, if you listening,
Devil... Now I'm whispering
I prepare by sipping water and gin. Fresh breathed and hydrated. You cannot smell my sin. And I don't wine, but...
One of you help. I ain't tryna hurt nobody, but I need a release. The pain I cause, sometimes, is unhealthy, but very necessary. I'm charged, admitted as a keeper of peace, shaking hands. I squeeze violent. Tugging. War, who will submit, I am not allowed. As a black man, going home to a family, or alone. surviving to create is paramount.
So please approach me with good energy. To make Heaven on earth, when your thinking hellish, depends on what your selling. That's what I was taught.
When body language doesn't translate.
Blacktops become blackboards.
Screams during flight, give adrenaline as I move and dodge, slide and maneuver. Claps, pound me to A knee, then both. I finally understand, hate and love are sealed in hugs and fists.
(Art from Lostboi’s album called No Bad Energy)
Confidence
I am a culture classic.
I am a cult classic.
My writing, opening my books, is like touching the privates of your affair. The one, your parents dared you not. The porn you’re addicted to. The drugs that ruin, but you can’t get up without. The one you broke your vows with, or the medication that heals.