Denial

As he watched it unfold
He thought himself lucky.
He could claim that he never made
A racial slur
Nor had he ever denied
A minority conversation
In fact,
He,
deep inside felt
They were inferior
Becoming increasingly weary
Of them with each passing decade
If it wasn't for honest
White men...

...Sometimes
his brain would
Stop midsentence.
He could justify the words
As long as he could
maintain deniability
After all, he was acting...

...Acting on years
of aggression;
Feeling eager
to watch his kin
Snuff them out!
But because of
Regulations
They could no long
Loose dogs
Or Wield firehoses.
Today...

No one hears of the
Cross burning
The whole lawn turnin
bright like christmas;

He was blessed to claim
That he had never been there...
Yet his father glorified himself
On the black skin of
Poor souls
Daddy
made sure they didn't
forget their roles
Likewise,

On the job he was sure
To give them the shifts
That separate families
He Gave him...

Gave him
Excuses when the raise
Was earned!
He took breakroom turns
Talking shit at the watercooler

Hmmmm

I wonder what they could be
discussin...

(Call it what it is!)

Coonin' although they would
Pretend they didn't see us
He was sure to claim black_distance/ from_friends who would never cross his threshold
He is not racist
The Poor guy,
that bullshit is in his bones

And there he stood
Watching them kill the boy
Watched the boy's hoodie become crimson
Watched them attempt
To conceal it
Watch them refuse to arrest
Watch them angry FOX
On news
Then he watched him walk away 2nd degree free....

Almost...
we almost swept
Another malcom
Martin
Medgar
Kennedy
Under the classified rug
We almost robersoned
Another fred hampton
But they saw it too

...And he was no racist
More like an enabler
A codependent personality
Unable to admit his bias
Unable to see that he is part
Of the priveledge
He is side by side with his
Brother
that had the nerve to kill
He did not petition his government
He did not demand justice
Because some of his people are
Out there too

"Out where?"

In unjust conditions
Compelling young black
Men to be would be victims
Did he file complaints on police
Department
For racial profiling
Going 65 on a pedestrian
Highway
You just freeway yo'self
On by
Where you at America?

My Black Hands

I am oppressed Unable to breathe,

To see beyond tomorrow To move toward a destiny Stifled...

Yet...

My fellow assumes That opportunities are bought And paid for;

This life is painful.

Half the time I'm a slave,

The other half a suspect 50/50

chances are like Wild jokers in a game of spades

I been booked so many times

I should have run a

Boston But that's like saying

hindsight Is 20/20

But that would imply that

I should have thought twice

About being a black child,

Black man...

My black hands Full of sand

My head hung low Hoodie

Covering my Penial gland

God don't make no mistakes

The truth is...

This system don't believe in fair shakes.

Untitled

Random Incidents of Pain (R.I.P.)

RANDOM INCIDENTS OF PAIN (R.I.P)

 

I been tested

I been...

Tried by fire

I been buried alive

Beneath the rubbish of

Filthy books

Tested by filthy looks

I been a crook

A cronie

A little homie

Ditching school

Cuz I hated trying to sit

Still

No longer believing

In make believe

My mind on fire

First time I ever knew the devil's

Temptation

Too many nightmares

These days its hard to dream

Wasn't long ago that

Fantasized about childhood

Play back home in New Orleans

Frustrated cuz I was

Trapped between 79th street

and Queen

Came here blindfolded

My eyes duck taped to fairy tales

Cali snatched that

tape clean from my eyes

I still feel the antagonizing

Sting of it

Every time I let my mind wander

Through the enchanted forrest

Of childhood memories

I only see the shadows

Had to find out the hard way

Niggas out here careless about

Life holding death hostage with

Three letters blasted on a cross street wall

R.

I.

P.

Rest in Pieces of parchment

Broken memories

And tired war stories We

Rest in pieces of bitter memories

Remembering how much unlike our

Mother's son we have become

Dead homies

Remembering the time moms sat next to us in our hospital bed

Lying silent

condition critical

The first time violence

ever came into the home

At 14

We celebrate death like

A birthday lost in three letters

R.

I.

P.

A young man growing old

Wasting away like a malnourished tree

Blindfolded by ignorance

No wonder we can't see

The dreaded screech of wailing sirens

No wonder our ears are deafened to the truth of it all

I have buried a lost soldier

Adolescent stick up kid shit

The homies paralyzed by grief

Dolla died at the hands of his own

Relative

Where we live life strangles the future

With bob wire and steel wool

It only takes a little brillow

To filter the horn

That way we can watch death

Burn slowly before

We take that last blast and then

R.

I.

P.

I hear the clash

Of dull steal

From the sound of sherif badges

Scraped against the concrete

Justice always seem$ to get stepped on

Protection always scarce

Why prevent violence, when violence protects you from the unemployment line?

Subsequently

We

Rest In Pieces of charred glass

Falling from the ceiling of the facade

Niggas out here careless about

Life holding death hostage with

Three letters blasted on a cross street wall

R.

I.

P.

Rest in Pieces of parchment

Broken memories

And tired war stories We

Rest in pieces of bitter memories

Remembering how much unlike our

Mother's sons we have become

Carryin guns in the 4th Grade

The homie son already know

How to weigh a gram

Daddy proud his boy

Already got that hustle in him

No use to fight the truth

The devil already winnin'

More than likely we all sinnin in some

Way

Just that in this urban climate

Young folk be victims of gun play

Most of em only know one way

And some may not know at all

Following blindly

Until

R.

I.

P.

Untitled