Poems

Small Minds Say Small Things

Mr. Black Killer

In Power of Oscar Grant

It seems to me
the only moment of silence
we will ever receive is in death.
Family trees decay with each lost breath.
Another murder scene drowned out by mothers’ screams,
Tainted black!
Binded to a million souls of hopes unseen and things yet to come.

He lays on blood unscripted
black paved concrete,
payin a price for life.
Conformed to reality, souls are transformed
by cowards in uniforms, instead of God each day.

Justice in a feudalistic system,
What’s the odds?
We are casualties of a war unspoken.
Modern day slaves demanding things to change
and they pick us like fruit.
It’s far past strange!

and no matter how much failure
you try to pump in our veins
we remain;
arriving on the wings of success,
kissing her with each breath.
You see Mr. Black Killer,
no matter how much you try
to enslave us, you can’t cage us.
Oscar’s blood you shed, won’t be in vain,
restrained to your iniquities you’ll remain!

Diaspora

I feel trapped like spirits of selves who left middle passage hell.
And held their breath until death was upon them.

Like their souls, I am in between
stuck in what’s become obsolete.

Stuck in lost culture, lost past,
lost in a Diaspora’s middle passage.

Where slavery wasn’t outlawed it was an economical bypast
and this diaspora doesn’t only apply to Jews
Sankofa, Ma-fa, Maat
which one you want to choose

we had a holocaust, the black holocaust
where our people was passed and passed through at a low cost

and young black African boys
whites, Arab, and Chinese
their penis they would chop off, taking away their manhood

leaving our children of today with confusion
and dissolution
conquer and divide that was their scheme

slavery at that time was supposed to be black peoples’ fate
and even today prompted as our fate

walkin around with invisible chains new age slaves
pushing the word nigga into our new age slang
disaster, disheveled, dismissed

from royalty, Kings and Queens
who with the devil the forcely kissed
snatched stolen and sold women, men, the young and the old
the poets, the artist, the mathematician

brainwashing us of ancient Kemet
destiny spent destiny forced
to re-vibe, rebirth
and like nature’s law, we rebuild
with new dances, new culture
new religion, new dishes
how you think gumbo came into fences

accepting all the master’s new scraps
and yea we did that and not only did we stop at that

and even though our exploitation and bloodshed
is what colonialism was built on

i refuse to let that give me a reason not to push on
i won’t be creaming about the white man’s boot

because i know can’t nobody hold you down but you
and i won’t let my mother being a crack head i never knew

nor how i went through group homes and foster homes
barely making it through as an excuse

neither should you
cause like i said before can’t nobody hold you down but you

its a double sided coin
you’ll find yourself feeling trapped

time and time again but we’re the future of this crazy world we live in
and by any means necessary we’ll keep strivin for a better livin

making blueprints on thee impressionable
imprints of life never will be turn from our God given right

nor be snatched away from our internal light
it’s time to get up from trippin off of tangible things

like how good a shorty look in those jeans
or how hard a brother can swang that thang
but elevating our mind to new things

the diaspora, the gateway to this crazy world we live in and even tho
i’ll feel trapped time and time again, never will i give in.

Divinity Pt. 1

Do you swear to tell the truth?
The whole whole truth,
nothing but the truth, so help you God?
I do.
I’ve watched liars place right hands on bibles,
speaking fraudulent truths to the masses,
while revolutionaries pour life onto deaf ears
Revealing light to the blind.

You see anyone can be awakened,
but no amount of truth or noise
will awaken someone pretending to be sleep.
I shed these poems like reckless bullets shed blood onto Oakland streets,
arrested mentally.

So strip me,
strip me of my impurities down to my core.
Tell my third eye to speak;
cleanse my womb for it’s been defiled.
Blessings and curses flow from our mouths like rivers.
My words create streams
of life or death.
So hold my tongue until its only haste is to speak truth.

Cuz’ now days the truth is getting punked;
liars rising boulder beyond measures,
contingent upon closet skeletons,
saturated in darkness.
Flick a light switch,
so the truth can shine bright.

This poem is for young girls birthed of tomb wombs,
convinced that they are nothing more
than black drops,
left to water seeds for a harvest that will never grow.

You see, I was held by my mother’s crack pipe tears;
held in my fathers fears
and although she left way before may,
never to see my flowers bloom in June,
I was held by the spirit of Oshun.

You see, new seeds begin with me,
because pressure burst pipes or what diamonds are made of.

How to Kindle a Silent Violence

There has been a silent violence kindling in my family tree for years,

decaying its leaves leaving a lineage of don’t tells.

Unfolding secrets that are too heavy for tongues

but they insist on being quite,

Afraid at the possibility of speaking things into existence

sight lines visible to invisible illnesses,

in my family no one talks about the obvious.

I try to convenience them that silence will not rid you of the
responsibility Of life or living.

Victorious

Lustful passion birthed you
hold you and mold you
so it would be a lie said
if said if i said
i never seen the cum coming
before i came and laid in that bed

that night seamen dripped unsureness and insecurities
life wrapped in irresponsibility
body changing with seasons
womb for what’s to beheld

not ready for what’s to behold
life changing by the minute
not recognized in a day
looking back on then, now i can honestly say

i thank God for not using protection that day
Nassor, baby let me tell you the truth
before your name was ever Victorious
you were nails biting, soul fighting

heart racing
mind feeling guilty
it was your life i was thinking of erasing
sitting in a clinic waiting for my name to be called
feet pacing hallways asking God for a sign
i found truth in the essence of that time

I pressed the elevator button
decided killing you wasn’t worth my time
not worth my soul

now in the completion of whole
to the almighty, you i behold
wouldn’t change it for the world
you see no one is perfect

but your the most perfect imperfection
if I’ve ever seen one
so now i name you Nassor
Cause Victorious you are!