Where is this coming from?
This need to achieve
To live a life of consequence
Was this placed on me by the world?
Of course not.
For who am I?
But here I am
Looking uphill
And I can’t lie
It’s scary sometimes
But I have to do it
But I still wonder…
Where is this coming from?
This system is so evil
It poisoned the water
It is so manipulative,
it took your water
And sells it back to you
The waters extraction
And the waste from the bottling
Now ruin your planet
A planet that is slowly,
running out of clean water.
You cannot lie to me forever.
Because my desire for freedom is inevitable
And only the truth will set me free.
If you want my advice…
It would be for you to start to tell the truth now
And come clean about the past.
You dont have to listen to me.
But the alternative is,
I destroy us both.
Imagine kidnapping the singing bird
And saying “this song is just for me!”
“Because I earned it”
“I worked so hard!”
“And them?”
“They didnt work as hard as me!”
“They dont deserve this!”
“They’re lazy!”
“Maybe one day, they’ll work hard enough
To hear this lovely bird sing!”
I first wrote a version of this poem in elementary school. I think the fourth grade. Here is my best attempt at rewriting it with more life experience.
I am the father and son of fire
When you see me, you know trouble is near
You may also ignore me
And remain comfortable in ignorance
But if thats your choice
Its only better for me
Because your inaction
Will allow me to grow stronger
To the point where,
Even if you do decide to act
Your fate is already sealed
The ground below me
Isnt as firm as it should be
I crouch, because without such a stance
I fear I would fall
So I remain still,
In a moment of silence
Wondering where to go next
But I also know
If I dont move soon
I will surely fall anyway
Richard Branson went to space
As Haiti erupts into a violence rarely seen
But I mean
What is he to do?
Admit that he and his nations’
immense wealth and prosperity
are built on the oppression
And forever reforming enslavement of those very people?
Now why in the hell would he do something like that?
This is the first spoken word poem I ever wrote and also the first I ever performed.
The day my son dies will be the day I reach the lowest pit of despair known to human kind
The day my son dies, I will surely cry a thousand tears
The day my son dies, I will begin to think of all he could’ve been and what he may have brought to this world.
The day my son dies, I will begin to hear and see “Black Lives Matter” everywhere, even though it didn’t seem to matter much on this day
The day my son dies I will regret not telling him that the skin tone he was born with should not be a curse, damning him to unwarranted fear from others
The day my son dies I will console his mother as I feel that I have failed both him and her
The day my son dies I will think back to the day I told him that what’s cool does not matter, only what is right
The day my son dies I will be ignoring calls from my loved ones telling me that “God has a plan” and “Everything happens for a reason”
The day my son dies I will be filled with rage that I cannot express, in fear of sharing the same fate as my lost child
The day my son dies I will regret not telling him about how his ancestors were kings and queens, not the target practice of each other and those sworn to protect them
The day my son dies I will surely be on the news telling the people of my city to calm down and not riot, if they even chose to do so
The day my son dies I will be able to relate to the pain of Michael Brown Sr. and Tracy Martin
The day my son dies, I will be ashamed of myself, as his father was more about talk than about action
By that time I will be a shell of my former self, a man no longer willing to fight against an unjust system
I will hate myself because I was too caught up in “life” to do anything about the senseless killings of black youth
Nothing will matter when my son dies, just the fact that that which I love most in this world, is no longer apart of it
But why should I wait for this fate to meet my unborn son
Why not take action now, while his father is young
We do not love ourselves
We love things
Some women respect loyalty
Some women respect rings
But if we do not treat our women like royalty,
What right do we have to call ourselves Kings?
Brenda had a baby
But Brenda barely had a brain
It’s a damn shame
Pac’s the reason I know my Momma’s name
Now you could say it’s not your problem
It was the hand I was given
Life isn’t fair
I was found in a trash heap
And if it was up to my step-father I would have stayed there
Born on the bathroom floor
My momma didn’t know what to keep
And in the midst of her hysteria
She threw away me
My grandfather was a junkie, grandmother wasn’t there
My mother would end up as a prostitute slain
But my step-father didn’t give a fuck about my mothers situation
And he put her there
Nowadays, with no authority guiding me other than that of my step-father
I do whatever it takes to resist the temptation
To sell crack to my own people
And avoid the jail cell one third of us are destined to be placed in
I’m not sure how much it helps
But some nights I pray as I fall onto my knees
Because in my country I’m treated like an unwanted step child
And my step daddy would rather see me like strange fruit hangin
From the Poplar Trees
I’ve been living with my step fathers boot on my neck
As if life wasn’t hard enough in my community
Someone how I made it to and finished college
And conservatives have the nerve to say the treatment is the same
between them and me
Maybe I can Garner support like Eric did
But hopefully it reaches me before I die
Suffocated by a system that’s mad I ever got the chance to be alive
I just want to be Granted the freedoms that Oscar was denied
But we carry on day by day striving for greatness
Regardless of what they think
Because no matter what levels of success this young king reaches
They will never cut the nose off this sphinx
Brenda’s baby is every “urban” black boy you dehumanize
Cops drive by and stare him down
As he stares back with his Momma’s eyes
So long live the rose that grew from concrete
When nobody even cared
But just in case you were wondering
Brenda’s baby is still here
All is well,
Well not really
But it soon will be
And if it is not
We will still have hope
