Druggies, Thuggies, Hoes
If you think drugs are a spark, your life is hazy because you’re barely awake. Fucking yourself and numbing the pain. Beat downs give something to look up to. That light you see looks like an elegant memory. You know it’s the same but far away from your current misery.
HEAD TRIP
My dreams coming true are nightmares depending how I move. Being the baddest motherfucker on the planet, had me screwed, in a place I couldn't escape from.
Stories that give me a release hold others in pain. They feel damaged from my grief-I thought recovery was supposed to help not be used to balance deadly habits--an addict’s bedside manor where they sleep in horror.
Heating babies’ skin with lighter’s and smoke so they never feel disappointment. Elevated thinking. A different kind of enlightenment.
Being Numb to emotions is the world’s new guilty pleasure. And me and my baby get numb when she shoves me down her throat.
More than OK
Today I love myself more than I did yesterday. I’m not exactly sure of all the reasons, but I don’t need to be. I just know I’m moving forward so I’m better than ok.
Negro What? Negro Who?
Who would I be if I wasn’t me?
A killer—I am. I kill my old self every day.
A rich man—I am. I have young life I’m constantly nurturing and feeding—so when I’m old and wrinkly they can take care of me.
A fixer- I am healing. So, I am a healer, I am a dealer, I am a dream stealer, and a dream deliverer.
Well, I’ll be God…Damn! at-some point I thought “I gotta stop believing the lie that I can become anything my heart desires.”
But sheeeeiiiiit, as you can see, I really can become anything.
Pep-talk
Do it. Don’t do it.
This is gonna hurt.
If you don’t listen it will get worse.
Don’t change what you believe. Just change what you see.
When you screw yourself, you screw me.
—-Teeth chattering from pain. Feels so strange. Hand shaking, trying to find the strength.
—-It’s at my head. I pull. Aaahhh. Peace. My mind is blank now I just wanted to change the way I think.
RUNAWAY (#1)
I thought running away relieved the troubles. Mind speeding around its trap—finding a way. Eyes—as windows, allowing glimpses. A journey to something new. Leaving sad, old times behind. Searching for more change than scenery.
My hopes, dreams and life rely on it.
Weak-End
Art by Laurie Homan
Thank goodness it’s Friday.
Excuse my health while I fry my brain off natural herbs, and insides off salt and grease. I’ll soon be at peace, laying or sitting. In or on a throne where death is released from the living.
My weekend—ahh, the long struggle, gets to choke me silly. Lay me out, now I don’t have to avoid help, eye contact or panic attacks.
If you pretend enough, you can bluff your way to recovery.
See me! Thats how I make it too!
Sad-er-day, when I sat-all-day—gone. Cause— I ain’t have the strength to live it— kept my woes shut in, so everyone felt me.
Let me not talk that way.
I’ll make it through…
Sunday, great name.
If you got one, protect him. teach what real and fake is, Not toy tits or butt lifts. The women who handle men better and more often than their own business and feelings.
If you have a daughter, educate and battle her and her mother— train them for the war they will see, and the ones men use for cover— Jealousy. It intensifies love but leaves no survivors.
I was never able to fully enjoy Sundays. I always felt the sun made the world stand still— a good thing, but I felt it was the last day to hold onto myself. When it’s fall and rainy season, I brace, cause smiles stop shining bright. Too many minds used to being used, slipping and pulling bodies down, happily confused.
But at the end, I get it together. I can’t be the man with a family and be weak. Aint no escape. Only helping myself and creating a better way.
Blues Traveler
How do memories travel? With the wind? Passing on whispers traveling like spirits.
Do you believe them? We make truer than what we presently see.
Morning Wood
What age are you supposed to grow up. I have an erection every morning. Does that mean my wet dream dies?
Black Book
I was looking in the mirror…
Opening and closing my eyes. Flipping my palms. Opening my mouth lifting my tongue, checking my mostly white teeth. I turned from side to side, then around. I checked my armpits. Flexed by biceps, chest, imaginary abs, then grabbed my dick.
Don’t fuck yourself.
Go make love to the world.
Grass is Greener
I’m a Lover. I’m a Fighter.
A provider and healer of myself and others.
I’m a hypocrite so I can show you how to recover and shake off my hurt.
I listen, I direct, protect, and show you how to neglect. Powers of a mental prison. I escape to lure you in. If out is what you seek, close your eyes for the best view.
I say my truth is my spirit, you call me delirious. But you should want my crazy to last. It shows my loves will.
I sought the wisdom of the stars. Standing barefoot in the grass, absorbing blessings to keep my head straight, and plant my seed in soil I know will keep me safe.
The grass is greener where my wife and kids lay. But it needs to be maintained.
Keep Fighting?
Art by Leroy Campbell
When you're the rock, you tumble when the kids struggle. Tears break you slowly. Causing trouble as you crumble. Wife shaking, holding hands in prayer so the relationship doesn’t turn to rubble.
A broken man is a weapon with bad intentions. Tearing others apart because he doesn’t know how to help—a lie used to escape problems because he won’t battle himself.
I know what’s next. But I won’t say. I won’t lure the pain. Not even to stop hurting you, Hurt brings revenge. And I don’t want to be the excuse for more suffering. I want to be the healing, helpful end.
I try not to start again, but I saw you struggle and suffer. I’m what you needed to cut loose. You refused. But you cut your eye at me, and it hurt more than hate. You can no longer pretend to love—so my rage never ends.
And I continue to hurt us, end love, and start again.
Daddy’s Nursery Rhyme. (Part 1)
New day. New you. The blues create life changing tunes.
New day. New you. If your blue, create a happy tune.
New day New you. You might feel stuck, but life is moving.
New day. New you. You can make it come true.
New day. New you. Don’t believe me. Go and get the old you. I bet you can’t. You have to force yourself to remain what you were.
New Day. New you. You were born to reach and go far, and I don't mean for buggers.
New day. New you. Never roll on yourself or your friends.
New day. New you. It's easy to be salty. bitter and sour. But it's like I said...
New day. New you. Clean your mess. Make room to be your best.
New day. Newy you. You are amazing. Now tell yourself.
Peace My Brother.
Art from www.freepik.com
Have you found your peace? So many experts, still no exact meaning. Sometimes my insides scream violence—that’s when I find it. When I hold myself back—I feel under attack.
When I let go—I feel in control. It’s the only feeling that has escaped that I want to hold onto. I can handle my war—can you?
My brother— let’s conquer our own peace before tears fuel fire.
Muggin
Art by Stevens Smith
People used to tell me I looked so mean. Then say,
"what's there to be so mad about?"
"You're too young and handsome to be that serious"
"You should smile."
First, I would think to myself “I was smiling in my head until you started talking to me.”
Maybe I was thinking about revenge. Maybe I was reminiscing about exchanging those exotic ugly f!!k faces.
Maybe I'm mad because people won't mind their business. When they see my face, as handsome as it is, they dissect it, want to change me, and if I don't smile, they say I... Have a problem?
That's what I ask before I give them one. Sometimes through force, but when you ask, and I explain, you are offering to take my pain.
7 Days
Seven days
A new deed every one. I do them on my own, so you can't purchase my soul.
I preach and I pay. My alter brings pain. But I talk you into staying.
Give me one more...
It was a struggle but being young and in love is convicting. I don't need proof, just plenty of spirit you feel deep. Sometimes it’s sickening.
Give me one more...
Your looking different. Pretending to be the same, avoiding attention. Looks bring heat, melting the weight. You're losing daily.
Give me one more...
You wanna see the best side. You wonder, is it when your eyes are open? Or closed, where no-one worries, or cares, and mindlessly blurt heartless-meaningless sayings like" at-least they're not suffering."
Give me one more...
Up and out. Your bed, your coffin, you're coughing. You're heaving your love, struggling to find where, how, why you lost, and found yourself high risk for hurt.
You need the pulpit— a torch, a bed, an ashtray, somewhere to block out the world. You spark, you fall and spread like pieces blown without care.
Give me one more...
Sore from the beating. Inspired from surviving. Sad from thriving in defeat and not seeing the win. You feel too many are gone.
Give yourself one more...
Limp forward, I’ll catch you or soften the fall.
Just one more!
Who's Your Dealer?
Art from www.poshmark.com (art by bri_tan)
My dope dealer was my doctor, Prescriptions Kept me running back, Until I just laid and couldn’t feel the attack. With no way to escape, now I’m always under.
My dope dealer was my teacher. Messages stuck with me until I couldn’t think for myself. What I passed put me in a class I couldn’t drop, so I graduated to rehab, where the black boards were security guards. Dressed in chalk white. Resembling sheets that covered and were never peeked from under. Big smiles-some missing teeth- made me think of pills. Hard and bitter, which messed me up on the inside.
My dope dealer was my parent. What I learned and carried put me through situations I never imagined. I loved and judged. for the right and wrong reasons. My attitude and weight changed with the seasons. Cold, hot, gloomy, breezy, sunny, dark, and I always left my mark.
My dope dealer is myself. I AM, what I believe and tell... Sometimes it’s detrimental, disgusting, and hurtful. But I follow those up with loving, positive, sayings I feel in my spirit.
What I hear makes me wanna kick the habit. Running back and forth, stuck undecided. I never knew anyone who truly quit something bad before their life ended.
I was raised to NOT-BE -A-QUITTER.AND I want to be a winner. I know the only way for me to fail is stopping myself from healing.
What I’m dealing has to please me, more than family or women. And I feel I always need to please them, or I’m a bad product. My environment right now is a mess-needs cleaning-they say it’s close to godliness. That’s how potent my dope needs to be.
Everyone’s Problem
You are not your problems-unless you refuse to solve them.
I heard Jordan Peterson say something similar.
These types of statements always make me wonder “how we make simple things difficult.”
Reminds me of staying where you don’t want to be, because you came with someone who doesn’t want to leave.
Sure, they are strong and independent, but they also rely on you for strength.
Huh, I said rely—like really lie, because they could’ve gotten here on their own. They used you so they could stay new, whole, lose themselves and be kept together by a chaperone.
When chaperones lose the one, their caring for—it’s disgusting, like hurting a newborn.
Stranger Danger
You want to know how they knew how to hurt you. They learned it from you. Friends become strangers forced to teach familiar lessons. All because you refused to listen.
Listen to me.
I know you're asking WHY?
I’m about to tell you.
I've been deaf for a- lot of years. And since were being honest it’s only been during everyone who's loved me's lifetime.
YES.. It’s possible, Because I didn't want to hear the truth. If you loved me, you had to take my faults. And if you left then f!!k you. But don't think for one second, I'm putting up with your aggravation.
My Nana used to say " The older they get the dumber they act" She kept it real about men and women.
I was smart enough to know being alone after you screwed love makes you desperate. Searching and begging, thinking all that pleasing will keep me. And it did. Kept me using you. The same escape that keeps addicts on the move.
Are you hearing me now?
No? You feel me tho. Heart kicking, from your mind flipping, muscles spazzing, remembering when… A stranger got their revenge.
Strange because you loved how the two of you were the ones who would be forever.
But all that lasted were scars and trauma. You were lied to and betrayed, trapped in hurt even after you realized you got what you deserved.
You want to know how they knew how to hurt you. They learned it from you. Friends become strangers forced to teach familiar lessons. All because you refused to listen.