Poetry 4 The Streets

Poetry for the Streets – Where Voices Become MovementPoetry for the Streets is a podcast dedicated to amplifying the raw, unfiltered truths of the Black experience through the powerful art of spoken word. Each episode spotlights poets whose work dives deep into the issues shaping Black communities—identity, justice, joy, resistance, healing, and everything in between.Alongside these performances, we bring in guest speakers, community leaders, and cultural commentators who help unpack the themes behind the poetry. Together, we explore the stories, struggles, and triumphs that inspire the art, creating conversations that are as thought-provoking as they are empowering.If you believe poetry can be a tool for change, a mirror for society, and a voice for the unheard, this is your space. Tune in, get inspired, and join a movement rooted in rhythm, resilience, and truth.

Poetry for the Streets – Where Voices Become MovementPoetry for the Streets is a podcast dedicated to amplifying the raw, unfiltered truths of the Black experience through the powerful art of spoken word. Each episode spotlights poets whose work dives deep into the issues shaping Black communities—identity, justice, joy, resistance, healing, and everything in between.Alongside these performances, we bring in guest speakers, community leaders, and cultural commentators who help unpack the themes behind the poetry. Together, we explore the stories, struggles, and triumphs that inspire the art, creating conversations that are as thought-provoking as they are empowering.If you believe poetry can be a tool for change, a mirror for society, and a voice for the unheard, this is your space. Tune in, get inspired, and join a movement rooted in rhythm, resilience, and truth.

Poetry for the Streets – Where Voices Become MovementPoetry for the Streets is a podcast dedicated to amplifying the raw, unfiltered truths of the Black experience through the powerful art of spoken word. Each episode spotlights poets whose work dives deep into the issues shaping Black communities—identity, justice, joy, resistance, healing, and everything in between.Alongside these performances, we bring in guest speakers, community leaders, and cultural commentators who help unpack the themes behind the poetry. Together, we explore the stories, struggles, and triumphs that inspire the art, creating conversations that are as thought-provoking as they are empowering.If you believe poetry can be a tool for change, a mirror for society, and a voice for the unheard, this is your space. Tune in, get inspired, and join a movement rooted in rhythm, resilience, and truth.

Poetry for the Streets – Where Voices Become MovementPoetry for the Streets is a podcast dedicated to amplifying the raw, unfiltered truths of the Black experience through the powerful art of spoken word. Each episode spotlights poets whose work dives deep into the issues shaping Black communities—identity, justice, joy, resistance, healing, and everything in between.Alongside these performances, we bring in guest speakers, community leaders, and cultural commentators who help unpack the themes behind the poetry. Together, we explore the stories, struggles, and triumphs that inspire the art, creating conversations that are as thought-provoking as they are empowering.If you believe poetry can be a tool for change, a mirror for society, and a voice for the unheard, this is your space. Tune in, get inspired, and join a movement rooted in rhythm, resilience, and truth.

Poetry for the Streets – Where Voices Become MovementPoetry for the Streets is a podcast dedicated to amplifying the raw, unfiltered truths of the Black experience through the powerful art of spoken word. Each episode spotlights poets whose work dives deep into the issues shaping Black communities—identity, justice, joy, resistance, healing, and everything in between.Alongside these performances, we bring in guest speakers, community leaders, and cultural commentators who help unpack the themes behind the poetry. Together, we explore the stories, struggles, and triumphs that inspire the art, creating conversations that are as thought-provoking as they are empowering.If you believe poetry can be a tool for change, a mirror for society, and a voice for the unheard, this is your space. Tune in, get inspired, and join a movement rooted in rhythm, resilience, and truth.

Poetry for the Streets – Where Voices Become MovementPoetry for the Streets is a podcast dedicated to amplifying the raw, unfiltered truths of the Black experience through the powerful art of spoken word. Each episode spotlights poets whose work dives deep into the issues shaping Black communities—identity, justice, joy, resistance, healing, and everything in between.Alongside these performances, we bring in guest speakers, community leaders, and cultural commentators who help unpack the themes behind the poetry. Together, we explore the stories, struggles, and triumphs that inspire the art, creating conversations that are as thought-provoking as they are empowering.If you believe poetry can be a tool for change, a mirror for society, and a voice for the unheard, this is your space. Tune in, get inspired, and join a movement rooted in rhythm, resilience, and truth.

Poetry for the Streets – Where Voices Become MovementPoetry for the Streets is a podcast dedicated to amplifying the raw, unfiltered truths of the Black experience through the powerful art of spoken word. Each episode spotlights poets whose work dives deep into the issues shaping Black communities—identity, justice, joy, resistance, healing, and everything in between.Alongside these performances, we bring in guest speakers, community leaders, and cultural commentators who help unpack the themes behind the poetry. Together, we explore the stories, struggles, and triumphs that inspire the art, creating conversations that are as thought-provoking as they are empowering.If you believe poetry can be a tool for change, a mirror for society, and a voice for the unheard, this is your space. Tune in, get inspired, and join a movement rooted in rhythm, resilience, and truth.

Poetry for the Streets – Where Voices Become MovementPoetry for the Streets is a podcast dedicated to amplifying the raw, unfiltered truths of the Black experience through the powerful art of spoken word. Each episode spotlights poets whose work dives deep into the issues shaping Black communities—identity, justice, joy, resistance, healing, and everything in between.Alongside these performances, we bring in guest speakers, community leaders, and cultural commentators who help unpack the themes behind the poetry. Together, we explore the stories, struggles, and triumphs that inspire the art, creating conversations that are as thought-provoking as they are empowering.If you believe poetry can be a tool for change, a mirror for society, and a voice for the unheard, this is your space. Tune in, get inspired, and join a movement rooted in rhythm, resilience, and truth.

Poetry for the Streets – Where Voices Become MovementPoetry for the Streets is a podcast dedicated to amplifying the raw, unfiltered truths of the Black experience through the powerful art of spoken word. Each episode spotlights poets whose work dives deep into the issues shaping Black communities—identity, justice, joy, resistance, healing, and everything in between.Alongside these performances, we bring in guest speakers, community leaders, and cultural commentators who help unpack the themes behind the poetry. Together, we explore the stories, struggles, and triumphs that inspire the art, creating conversations that are as thought-provoking as they are empowering.If you believe poetry can be a tool for change, a mirror for society, and a voice for the unheard, this is your space. Tune in, get inspired, and join a movement rooted in rhythm, resilience, and truth.

creator, don’t give me the power of a coward wisdom of a fool give me the power of a warrior wisdom of an elder 2 fight for freedom give me the power and courage for when the oppressor sentences me 2 death for my eyes 2 remain open when he swings the sword to die in honor than 2 live a life of shame please help mold me so my struggle will be just cut down and kill all my weaknesses let my vision be the strength for a new humanity death before dishonor my soul stands above mortal man i am a warrior an afrikan warrior who walks among the gods will not lay with the devil i carry the tools of the revolution work, study and a rifle i strive for land the basis of all independence have no time for scandalous niggers who can’t bring about change have no time for the club that can’t bring about change have no time for clown niggers who can’t bring about change i study how 2 take life in order 2 bring forth life i study destructiyon for instruction you see, man has lost his ethics and virtues the only language he understands is 2 take by hand, by knife and gun so i build my mind and body so others will know the only taking will be done by me i realize my road is death my road is victory i stand and look within 2 the creator some elders say ‘the way of the warrior is death” if so, let me die an afrikan warrior.

Your mama so black  Your mama so black  Your mama so black She’s beautiful  1 Your mama so black She’ll fight the bloods and crips Your mama so black She’ll fight the nypd Your mama so black She’ll laugh  When they read her rights Your mama so black Anyone harm her children  Your mama so black  Your stomach  Never knew hunger Your mama so black U never believed Santa down a chimney  Your mama so black Your pops called her a bitch  she ate it Your mama so black Your woman is black

who is the man in your eyes with the gun your creator of pain the reason behind not loving me not wanting 2 be loved you cry at the same time each night call out his name when you’re holding me sister, i understand understand that he is gone and you must let go who is the man in your eyes with the gun do you love him more than me tell me, sister tell me about this man (widow speaking:) see, i remember him more than god he laid his pain on my lap and laughed it was wrapped in my husband’s blood-stained shirt his blood gripped around his body not wanting 2 let go god cries every time i speak my pain i never had a chance 2 hold my fiancé 2 say i love you one last time the gun hugged him, kissed him on his forehead his heart, his stomach, and had an orgy on his body made passionate love and he came blood i never had a chance 2 really get 2 know his strengths 2 learn his faults my memory of him is incomplete all i remember is his savior who used his gun as a cross forced me 2 walk into hell god, have you fallen in love with him yet? has his smile made u smile does he tell you jokes that make you laugh all night are you happy now that you took him from me his children still wait for the sound of his keys for him 2 talk of his pains so they can snatch them and change them into love “when is papa coming home,” they ask and i say, “never” he’s talking 2 god now he has a new home and they cry tears that yell louder than their father’s screams so who is this man in my eyes with the gun? it’s my fiancé’s savior the one who makes his family cry at 10:45 pm every night they say he is only 19 my fiancé was only 25 and i will cry the rest of my life.

silver bracelets lock afrikans killed returned 2 living hell as i walk thru the valley of death i can hear the laughter see the gossip being yelled from open windows ms. so-and-so’s son has fallen fallen from perfection, as they see it their cracker god gave me twenty-five-2-life each day is a blow 2 my soul each day, i forget the purpose of living this is where afrikan screams, yells can be heard as men jerk their dicks waiting for that reminder of loved ones young victims are made into bitches that suck dick and cry at the same time i hear their yells and shiver how many times can a man die? each day is a new death each midnight is when they pronounce me dead Jesus does not hang on my walls i killed him every time i needed someone 2 release my pain on i stabbed him in my mind ‘til jah could not take no more and pulled me away i see her face a loved one i will never see again her letters 2 me are kidnapped and molested by the prison guards by the time i touch them, they are not pure no more your love has died all that remains are words that curse me speak of my son who will never touch me who dies in my mind everyday his tears from his face have disappeared, i wonder why all i can do is cry as my cell mate’s bed squeaks and he moans like a billie holiday record i look 2 the ceiling and see my executioner i see the seconds stand there and smile i try 2 picture in my mind ways i could have changed them and hid them, change time death kicks my dream 2 the ground as the executioner places silver bracelets on my hand seconds laugh so now everyday becomes a struggle every morning i see the same walls i pray for the end of the world so i can escape my death people ask me, “do you feel any pain, any shame for killing him” i say, “you was not there when they trained me 2 be a killer, all you can see is my victim’s pain” society laughs, they blame their crimes on me 2 blame the cracker is a crime they blame me for tears formed in my eyes, they never fall when i hear my victim’s screams for some reason when i pulled the trigger it was meant 2 be i bathed in his blood and looked into his lover’s eyes and saw that i would be remembered more than him i became equal 2 Jah i became equal 2 Jesus i became the one thing his widow could touch her living dream i brought my pain and laid it at her lap when i killed him so now i walk thru living hell and fear no evil when i close my eyes, i see children crying in dark churches mothers dressed in black looking out windows for their loved ones 2 come home fathers at bars cursing my name i open my eyes and see saviors men who will never be forgotten i’m the one Malcolm never touched, Martin never saw, Jesus never had hope for am i a victim or a man who runs thru the street looking for someone 2 blame i don’t know each day becomes darker and darker until i can’t see but hear screams that get louder and louder i finally realize it’s me i’m only 19 19 years old serving twenty-five-2-life.

think it started over a pull of some shit we picked up from the incense shop on 125 as i rubbed your thighs tried 2 feel your wetness as you press breaks accelerated hit the highway north 2 catch the twelve-2-twelve action as your panties got soaked before i closed the hotel doors she’s my nigger my peep in any situation this sister would pull triggers for her man go 2 war for her nigger we got each other’s back like shakur’s roll deep like afrika’s tell punk niggers to move she can create lines with a wink we be our own clique step in rooms walk streets watch eyes be on our shit can have whole conversations on nicks and dimes jamaica in the sands weed fields we got mad herb in our dreams i leave battlefields when i’m in her arms leave clips all that shit be on safety as i hold her hips i can breathe when i’m with my sister who would go 2 war pull triggers for her nigger just needed someone 2 believe in the dream in our dreams i would go all out for you there is not a life time bid i wouldn’t do for you i promise you the world no fuckery ever come home vexed no arguments but when we let the devil into our home we’ll just take mad pulls of the skunk in heaven meditate on our beauty as i rub your nappy hair and reflect on the first touch the first rub the reason we became 1 like souljahs on the battlefield we only got each other, nigger niggers cry that shit they would die for you but i will always live for you live 2 just bite those blunt blunted lips take pulls of your shit finger love you ‘til i soak you and i’m ready 2 go in share love in the struggle feel you in the battle if we separate in the war if i die you die we’ve lived some shit 250,000,000 afrikans died for don’t cry, love i won’t cry, love this world ain’t big enough 2 bury black love our love will bury them grow weed fields as our children lick weed in a bush take mad pulls and reminisce about mommy and daddy souljahs who lived and died for niggers so niggers ain’t gotta die no more but live as afrikans live as one.

what do you care if a black dies  reflections of me die everyday dead before meant to 21 death day i rot inside my mama’s womb smell the flesh of botched abortions  where my brother and sister died  i’m the 3rd this year to sit on this cold floor in my mama’s house  the cradle of civilization  dead souls tell me only long beeps were heard after they took their first breaths eyes so small never opened but could feel young crackers smile  at the chance to cut open little Afrikans and discover ways to kill them faster my mommy smokes crack if she didn’t kill me your son would over a chain the pig cop  over his manhood she smokes because of pain i smoke because i live thru her breaths and all she inhales is the cracker’s genocide i heard screams from two brothers on the outside  cursed my moms told her the corner stopped hiring they have heart but their man was blown away the night before  so courage fired them but poverty paid them off the books so drug kingpin protects his and warns twice but catches them on the third go around and lays there remains on Malcolm x blvd so all would understand you have to pay takes you have 2 pay your dues 2 be the boss and they came up short so now i know big brothers won’t toss me around break up fights when i call for help because they gone where i just came from i kick and scream for the white rocks she feeds me every half hour but mama changed the formula without telling me  it’s a little stronger take small sips or o.d. and flush down the toilet will be my fate i’m so small i could slip no one would know i look out windows and see ugly do or die where we do what we’re told and work 2 be poor i go crazy wondering if my skin is light or dark only touching hair knowing it’s not good  because my mama cried about hers many nights  i know i will make you cry 2, mama because i know i’m ugly no mirrors hang in this dark cell i come from a father who hustled and sold and screwd over some bigger fools money so caps were pulled daddy was left capless daddy changed mama into a beggar  begging from 2 to 5 on F trains stomach big but crumbs still given as the smell makes some dumb fool cover her mouth  like the handkerchief is going 2 make my poverty disappear dumb fool my mama’s hungry and u gave her a  quarter five 2 eight we sleep in front car or lay with conductor after 8 we have 2 run from men who love dirty vagina without asking so eyes remain open as we run the streets looking for money 2 shoot up last month’s rent was smoked away she 6 months but i feel like coming 3 months early  2 help her poor black woman ain’t pro-choice  no choice  if no funds and now heroin fills my mind as a trick pounds into vagina  2 sad 2 get wet  so dry and tight  as he moans i see what most black men  call manhood looks dirty, dried-up tool worthless against crackers that rule with brains and guns mama’s 2 numb 2 tell him 2 pull out mama, i hope he pays u because i need a pull i can’t sleep  and the room has no food left and it’s cold mama, i hope he pays you  so we can eat  good, mama paid loot give loot find corner underground railroad mama don’t cry i’ll find a dark vein and push it 2 the surface  just feed me stick it in i can we can sleep now 3 months became 2 weeks i will see this world that killed 2 brothers like they were supposed 2  but i come a week in advance hospital still crowded with friday’s arguments  bleeding on a saturday night my mama screams on a stretcher confused the high is needed she forgot about me not knowing i died 15 minutes ago i’m just laying here waiting 2 be buried  i overdose on 400 years  of pain  as crackers smile knowing they will cut me open one grabs my mother  as she screams and tells her your baby boy is dead on arrival.

god, i need 2 talk 2 u 2 know if it’s true what that little brother said standing out in the cold as that old lady tried 2 give him a paper hat said, “believe in jesus” and he said, “fuck that shit; god only gives me pain” god, i always wanted 2 ask you why when you saw the hundreds of millions of Africans dying you never helped why did you let so many Afrikans die? god stands there in silence i see the tears begin 2 fall and he screams, “who loved me? you blame me for crimes i never committed for the evil committed by man i cried out 2 my children for love they turned their backs and hung a cracker on their walls took millions of years of spirituality said it wasn’t sophisticated enough called my love primitive, his scientific so now that his system killed and enslaved you you blame me, you turn your back 2 me who do i cry 2 millions of years of ‘fuck you’ is all i ever heard “i still loved you i sent Jesus, Harriet, Marcus, Malcolm, and martin each one of my angels you killed and turned away” i begin 2 cry 2 and Harriet and nat exchange war stories and they speak of the betrayal and Harriet yells, “get aboard, the train is coming” and harriet and nat laugh with a sick laugh ‘cause nigs still try 2 jump the turnstile without paying “i tried 2 save you i tried 2 save Afrika but like George Jackson, i sit in this dark cell i tried 2 save Afrika i tried 2 save u but y’all turned your back on me to take the cracker’s god and now heaven ain’t nothing but a dark cell where Afrikans cry all day soon, brother Israel. you will cry here 2.”

If the sun gets to close We will wither away If its waters to much it rots and decays Cop called and word are exchanged  Arguing and such emotions in play Face to face  The push and shove The threat of aids the threat of blood They place on hands the latex gloves Flash lights and radios Batons and sprays Tasers and mase Its all for pain Oh god Oh lord Oh Jesus The angels whispers and screamed  As the devel laughed and the demons danced The suns of men The daughters of women That could do no harm They get 10000 dollar rewards if you done them wrong They aint for me They not for you Protect corporate America interest this is true Serve the interest of the rich is what they do When I take one step there’s no turning back to you A coward is common But we all have the chance to be brave You have to accept to be made a slave Look me in my my eyes and as they choke me to death May you hear my screams in your nightmares every night We could stop this right now make it right Dig deep within with me fight Resist take that pen dig out a eye Im asking Im pleading Please Don’t just stand there and let them kill me in front of you Some use there sticks Some use threre arms Cut of my air Tell you stay calm Lifted off sidewalks As my eyes they bulge Surround by bloods Surrounded by crips Some folks and shit I foam at the mouth I gasp for sweet air They yell they scream The cops no care No one fights They just look and stare Terror in there eyes  Hearts filled with fear As I’m choking to death Only seconds is left Now is your chance Grab there ear  Push grab there hair Grab there legs Do what you can I beg I plead Please don’t stand there and let them kill me in front of you Some got cells they record it all Anthony bias again for all of y’all In front of moms In front of pops In front of sis Brothers and such Neighbors stood and watched Chocked to death by cops Fear it grips You can’t move to help But don’t your music Celebrate people gettting kilt Ain’t every conversation  I’ll fuck Such and such up Don’t you wanna war But not with cops I ask u all Is you not my friend  Riding in my whip Walk the streets in our timbs  If I must meet the brute of amerikkka force If it be nights  And all in sight If we must push If we must shove  If it escalate to where the be must die Will u do more than stand and cry Grab your phone and point Will you be like me Mumia when he saw his brother getting beat by cops  Grab a gun Grab a knife  Or use your hands and pick your fight Please don’t stare  Just yell and scream  And plead for my life Fight for my life  Fight cause it’s right Let’s live tonight All I ask  I beg I plead Please  Don’t just stand there and let them kill me in front of you   

my grandpa asked me,  “where is your brother”  “with his new girlfriend” grandpa said, “a nigger 2 pussy  is like a carrot 2 a donkey;  follow her around like an ass” grandpa’s throne was a crate mine was the ground the sun was getting closer 2 the earth  the children had finished school and started playing in the park when the dogs’ away the cats will play we got the jig masters the fiddlers we got the Kinte  going 2 work from nine 2 five they will be tobey  return around the way and be kunta we got the elders they drop the jewels tell us not of afrika but when the plantation was more civilized  when cotton had a club where u pass a paper bag test 2 shake your ass as the children sing “y’all had no guns?” no, we had blades and if you acted sassy,  we’d cut your ass “y’all ain’t rob?” no,  we threw a rock,  stole ya clothing off the line  caught a fool and ran a pyramid on him and we moved from the south 2 the north  us bad boys used 2 reside in the village  then we moved 2 harlem now we way up north back then the neighbors would speak  the silent ones you couldn’t trust  now if they speak, they gossiping if they smile you got some funny shit on or cold on your face boy, take some spit and wipe that off here go my brother walking the blvd with his queen as he looked over at us  he said 2 his queen  “look at them” who? “all of them” who? “i just wanna get out of this shit” what? “i wanna be like the sun they can’t touch me you like the moon reflect, see, stars in the sky, so far no man can touch their beauty” i said, “grandpa,  look at rashid following his carrot” grandpa said, “between them 2,  they got all the love in the world  no money but if they’re love was loot,  it could free us all”  and grandpa laughed we laughed we got the good and the ugly but on the news,  the bad gets the starring role  the good be extras ugly directors rich crackers the producers the suns in the middle of the sky little children gathered around their elders like moths 2 light grandpa ask, “what you wanna be, son?” a civilizer like moses 2 the canaanites i wanna walk in the projects,  make blacks act right grandpa laugh, said “that sound nice, now run to the bootleg  and buy me a pint” we don’t laugh at the elders  ‘cause they was once stars  dreams of thrones now these streets they drink and tell us tales  and brighten up our hell as i saw my mama she said, “where rasheed?” over there with his girl friend  looking at his hell he said, “look at them” who? “all of them” who? “i just wanna get away from all this shit” what? “i wanna be like the sun;  they can’t touch me  you the moon, reflect, see,  have stars in the sky so far  that no man can destroy their beauty” i said, “mama, look at rasheed and that girl kissing” mama said, “between them 2,  they got all the love in the world  but no money but if their love was loot,  it would free us all” and mama laughed  we laughed the sun was getting further from the earth  the trees yawned children dropped their tee shirts put sweaters on we ran from parks 2 schools stray dogs had peace 2 walk the streets  without getting rocks tossed running 2 school i stopped 2 say,  “what up” 2 my grandpa  i saw my brother arguing with his queen instead of loving as she walked away and fiddler came 2 mix with the field niggers he had water in his eyes i thought it was from the dust but grandpa knew it was from his heart he said his queen was sick but she ain’t want him 2 go 2 the clinic with her  he got mad talking some shit about she ain’t want him 2 see her crying grandpa told him a story  that his mama told him  that her mama told her sometimes a mother would claim a child before it left the womb  take its soul and hide it in between the stars give the slave master the only thing it could control,  the body rasheed screamed “look at them” who? “all of them” who? “i just wanna be like the sun; they can’t touch me; i wanna be like the sun!” as he ran grandpa sipped his brew and said,

i go into this mission a souljah die for my colors dream of some land and children i’m a family man respect the wisdoms when they respect me correct them when they disrespect themselves from showers 2 bedrooms with fine black ones i walk with my head up erect, trying 2 find an escape her pussy looking fat like uptown dimes passing on the knowledge listening 2 the wisdom wanting 2 birth the understanding u can see god in her eyes but the pussy been booby trapped by a selfish nigger so all black men are 2 blame for this one nigger she said he tricked her but i think she tricked herself like a rat that bites when you put the poison with the peanut butter monkeys, you put the banana in the jar women, you put the nigger in the lexus for this, sister, you can’t use no game no astrology shit you got 2 quote from diop and Frantz Fanon agree with her more than you disagree with her she just came into the knowledge so she sensitive at this point looking fine in tank tops, cut-off shorts black legs, fat lips she could be the one the others could be the 2 pussy ain’t for free dick getting harder so i wanna get closer sister, either you gonna cry for me correcting you or smile from me kissing you moan when i’m up inside you sweat pouring as i run thru barbed wire land mines strategically placed by a savage one surrounded by incense, i heard, “tic tock tic tock” called up moms on the cell “god, i never seen this type of bomb before” he said, “turn the ass over and check the color of the wires” one’s red and one’s black “is it digital?” true indeed it got last time hurt 4/12/09 oh, that’s the old model “cut the red wire” u sure? “yes, the black wire” u said the red, fuck it – snap as she screamed “u just like all them niggers i fuck with!” if i’m just like them other niggers give me the pussy like them other niggers and shut the fuck up! blew up the spot laid on the side of the bed with my herb and some liquor stroking my own cock – that’s some osama pussy.

creator, don’t give me the power of a coward wisdom of a fool give me the power of a warrior wisdom of an elder 2 fight for freedom give me the power and courage for when the oppressor sentences me 2 death for my eyes 2 remain open when he swings the sword to die in honor than 2 live a life of shame please help mold me so my struggle will be just cut down and kill all my weaknesses let my vision be the strength for a new humanity death before dishonor my soul stands above mortal man i am a warrior an afrikan warrior who walks among the gods will not lay with the devil i carry the tools of the revolution work, study and a rifle i strive for land the basis of all independence have no time for scandalous niggers who can’t bring about change have no time for the club that can’t bring about change have no time for clown niggers who can’t bring about change i study how 2 take life in order 2 bring forth life i study destructiyon for instruction you see, man has lost his ethics and virtues the only language he understands is 2 take by hand, by knife and gun so i build my mind and body so others will know the only taking will be done by me i realize my road is death my road is victory i stand and look within 2 the creator some elders say ‘the way of the warrior is death” if so, let me die an afrikan warrior.

sisters are beautiful, brother and queens can’t be hoes new millennium sisters can’t even be queens i think of them as souljahs that have been labeled bitches ‘cause they’re strong i smoke the herb take a pull and say peace 2 jah and the ancestors then they say to take a sip of the liquor i say genocide and yells come that could make john hawkins smile brothers scream in unison “what are you? pussy?” i think 2 myself, years ago i would have pistol whipped him and asked if he could say hi 2 god for me but since i’m a reformed nigger i just smile and say, “yes” i’m Israel, the pussy more power comes from a pussy than the barrel of a gun can’t you feel the power, brothers when you make revolutionary love each touch is a new understanding as it gets wetter u become stronger as we destroy the oppressor they say i became pussy when i turned the pages of malcolm x’s autobiography as each page turned i became strong as a woman’s womb so, sister, as i bathe in your juices i bathe in power the same power that drove shaka insane the same power that brought forth malcolm the same power that hid fred hampton’s child from bullets and stopped malcolm’s children from seeing the shame of the black race me and millions of afrikan revolutionaries sat in our mothers’ wombs and took notes on your mistakes only 2 leave the pussy and be told the revolution is over so i am pussy every inch, every hair when a cracker dies from an afrikan bullet i’m that orgasm when a brother takes his finger and plays with you i’m the burning of the amerikkkan flag as you moan and groan i am the yells as you come i come forth with an army and overthrow and burn down this wicked nation as you and that brother talk after love sharing lay in bed talking about the future i am the plans being planned in a dark room i am pussy 100% pussy black woman, when you’re thrown into an alley and fucked without your consent i am rodney king when your own people ask “what where you doing out that late? why you have on that clothing that showed your beautiful body?” i am rodney king without the camera as my people fuck me over as amerikkka sticks its boot up my ass i am every yell, every tear i am that little boy who looks at his daddy not allowed 2 be a man and feels dirty like a sister who denies the rape and can’t pick up the phone a cry for help afrikan man is pussy that’s been violated i am pussy not free 2 walk this land i am the rebellion the gun the power that brings forth nations i am the one not afraid 2 cry 2 ask for help yes, i am pussy nice fat dark as midnite nappy haired soft wet sweet afrikan pussy.

How 2 approach us silent hide fear in back of mind don’t smile because smiles paint punks in pink until they get bitch slapped and brought back 2 reality How 2 approach us not preaching shit not following but showing self as example produce means for me 2 survive How 2 approach us in sunlight ‘cause darkness brings caution that is protected by nines How 2 approach us realize i have nothing tomorrow i will have nothing i am nothing a nigger with no future will die rite here in the ghetto, forgotten tomorrow laughed about by niggers as my body is placed in plastic creating a fucking nigger reunion ‘til 2 in the morning How 2 approach us realize i don’t have a motherfucking thing 2 love Approach With Caution!

My Jesus on my cross how much abuse will you take afrikan woman, can’t the yells move you? afrikan woman, can’t the threats move you? afrikan woman, can’t the blood move you? what do you stay behind wait for the murder of your soul? his words have no respect for you when he speaks every word is a word filled with hate i feel your fear, sister would run if it approached me i’ve seen the blood on the wall seen you beat into the ground and stood still with fear in the end, i cried in shame my jesus on the cross how long will you bleed? how long will he abuse you? he curses you instead of the cracker all of the world’s pain you feel Jesus on my cross you have cried the pain of three children my Jesus, please don’t die for my sins don’t wait until he kills you sister, please, please don’t be my jesus on the cross

why all this sex shit all this ass shit all this breast shit all this leg shit all this thigh shit all this let-me-suck-your-tongue shit i want some good shit some talk-all-night shit some learn-from-each-other shit some teach-each-other shit not the sex-only shit i want the shit where you can sit around and relax shit real shit like my poetry shit good ole chilling-on-a-friday-night shit a relationship where i can say shit just plain ole shit, like honey, i had a bad day shit honey, i hit the car shit honey, i got fired shit that good old, pure not only sex looking-for-my-nut-2-bust shit i love u for your spirit and mind shit the body 2, shit the black-on-black dark as chocolate shit.

there will always be the need for one more poem 2 describe how i feel catch the word before it changes its clothes and transforms into a new set i must create new words 2 equal my pain i tried 2 close the book but my poems become like the world’s sins and they sit down in filth and multiply surround me, cause me 2 question my words one poem asked, “why are you so in love with pain?” i answered, “pain is someone i have known since i was conceived, my mother’s pain grew in me and became strong, i must write what i know” a deep long dark poem asked me, “why don’t you conceal your pain and make your people smile?” the child is scared of the truth when it plays with the wrong side the truth must be spoken even when it takes on a ugly form it is simply the job of the artist to strangle the question until it bleeds the answer my poems think 4 themselves and ask a final question, “will we be made 2 smile one day?” i answer, “when the world becomes like poetry naked and pure when we look into our hearts and discuss our fears like children, then you will smile” my poems understand and go into the world to find a sad soul 2 read them and question the world.

pants sagging 40 drinking woman loving oh, excuse me i’m a nigger a nigger from the blvd i’m from the hell you never walk thru i’m the nigger who sends chills thru your spine i’m the nigger you would not sit next 2 on the F train the nigger who makes you turn your head back when you walk you stop and let me pass yes, i’m that nigger i’m the nigger who embarrasses you in front of your white lover i’m the nigger your friends ask questions about i’m the pusher the pimp the stick up kid any other bullshit stereotype you want 2 pin up on me i’m the nigger you blame your laziness on i’m the great fuck up the one who always gets the cracker off the hook i’m the one who trips ‘cause u never taught me the traps u curse and never forgive look, look, i’m super nigger destroying Amerikka captured by the good never-did-nothing cracker led away on the 6 o’clock news home sweet home i’m the nigger you told there ain’t no death penalty in new York but every time i get shot down you march for 2 days and forget cursed by ham, evolved from monkeys the nigger who, if i died, all of Amerikkka’s problems would die i’m the nigger the bible talks about the one who’s gonna burn in hell forever when your off in milk and honey the nigger you wish would die i’m the nigger you talk ‘bout on tv the funny thing is if you sat and talked 2 me you would see i’m afrikan all the way thru if you were not scared of me you could really love me but since you judge with your eyes, i’m a nigger a nigger who never slapped a sister a nigger who never killed a brother a nigger who never raised my voice 2 an elder i’m the nigger who, if your punk ass was getting fuck up on the number 2 train as everyone turned their heads, i would die 4 you, i would die for my people if i had 2 but you can’t see that 4 most of you if you don’t see a Afrikan dressed as a cracker or a kente cloth intellectual he just a nigger all the books i read, poems i wrote all the shit i done don’t mean shit when the cracker puts my face on the 6 o’clock news oh, he’s a drug user i go from the innocent youth shot down by pigs 2 a nigger for life because all black youth that choose 2 be them self and not a cracker definition of a man are just niggers 2 u so i’ll be a nigger a nigger from the blvd.

i bring such pain widow’s blood i’m the one you wish would die under your breath switch the channels go 2 the blvd and i stand take a piss of my brew whose effect is dieing of so crack another one so my pain can smile i’m not a stick-up kid a fucking hungry nigger who feeds off the insecurities you build up with nice shit yes, the one you wish would die so what can you say that’s not already been said what can you do that’s not already been done you lock me up my pain multiplies and multiplies until it bursts and i explode and shoot at a birthday party and make it a wake ‘cause the gun was pointed at the one you write poetry for sermons over and songs how do you write a poem for the ones you wish would die god waits for the day he can wrap his hands around my neck my mama could not take the pain of dead memories as she walks me 2 the door she cries said she has 2 begin now 2 separate her self from the hatred she helped create i kissed the door as she slammed it held her like i knew she was holding me on the other side told her i understand had 2 make loot so i ski masked it taped handle never spoke 2 my victims killed and took took their crumbs and made them into a stale pie that never filled me just kept me hungry for more the one you wish would die standing out in the cold as revenge ran up and hit me more times than a cop, a perp with bullets that made my blood hit the ground like syrup so mama remembers me now as the pastor jumps around on stage begs god 2 take my soul god says no he brought me 2 much pain he must burn that’s the reason why my mother cries my victims’ tears so how do you write a poem for the ones you want 2 die do you just look at a blank page write a song for the one that killed your moms does your paper stay blank like mine could someone please tell me how do you write a poem for the ones we wish would die?

black America do you kill me or do you teach me?  do you love me or push me away? whatever the cost i will never go away but multiply and creep into your children’s minds  grow like the boogie man become realities subtract the living pour brews for the dead divide families as gangs set up retaliations 2 continue towards armageddon as mothers weep curse my name  as papa drinks tries 2 remember what he taught and what he never will brother 2 sister , try 2 fill in the spaces of the missing link babies ask, “where he gone? when he coming back? where my daddy? why mama crying? why everyone crying?” it’s Christmas and jesus was resurrected and your father’s dead we do it like delilah 2 samson jacob 2 esau cain 2 abel judas 2 jesus sold him for 30 pieces of golf am i my brother’s keeper? no, i’m my brother’s killer don’t smile, sun ain’t no brother shit, sun every nigger for them self, sun born by your self, sun live for your self, sun every nigger got 2 protect self, sun every nigger feel the bullet for your self, sun every nigger shit in their drawers cough their blood for self, sun every nigger in a pine box for self, sun unmarked grave for self, sun every nigger serve time ‘cause when he killed him he was thinking of self, sun i’ll be your dubois 2 marcus elijah 2 malcolm jesse 2 fararakhan black man 2 black woman the powerless who fight among themselves for crumbs i’ll be your papa 2 mama when he whooping her ass i’ll be the elder 2 youth one die sooner one die later but neither never lived we do it like delilah 2 samson jacob 2 esau cain 2 abel judas 2 jesus sold him for 30 pieces of gold am i my brother’s keeper? no, i’m my brother’s killer II fuck hookers most women be like cars if you ain’t got the loot 2 put down don’t even look so i test drive and jump out at red lights fuck niggers they come a dime a dozen niggers come so cheap if they was in a supermarket they be in the 99 cent bin crackers be like hard headed brats what they touch they break what they don’t hear they feel when they speak is pure lies hum this shit like a hymn blessings from the devil written by a possessed soul it’s called 30 pieces of gold hum it in the churches when you call them fools pagans hum it in your groups when you argue over ideology hum it on the plantation when you ask why that sister got the promotion cracker gave her all the crumbs hum it in your support groups when you say black men ain’t shit that’s why i pick the pale divide yourselves, niggers curse yourselves, niggers then kill yourselves, niggers remember when you come in front of the lord on judgment day god will ask you what the cost is 2 sell your souls tell him 30 pieces of gold 

My Mama Smiles Now, Cause I put a Nine 2 my father head and said, Slap again nigger slap again My mama Smiles now