HarlemLIVE

When you ask me why I do poetry
This is exactly why
For the racist, prejudiced, tendentious, pale, guys
Who would murder a young black girl by forcing her head backwards into a pool of water
And then claim he was tryna baptize her
Rid her of all her innate sin
Rinse that dirt, filth, and trash off, which she calls skin
And make her pure
White as snow
Oh yeah! You didn’t know?
Being Black is horrible
Black is the color of dirt
It’s the color people wear to funerals when they’re sad and hurt
Black is something you find on the bottom of your shoe
Underneath your nasty nail
And the color of your eye when you’re beaten by a man because you’re a female
Black
Is the word “lack” with a “B”
Because people with that color should lack the ability to even be
Which is why when you see a group of Black kids just being themselves and having fun
You immediately think crime scene
And find any reason on earth to pick one of them to quarantine
Like my girl who hopped the turnstyle
While we were singing loud and laughing all the while
But you two racist pigs see us enjoying ourselves as an “intimidation” to your dear white people
So you grab her up
Ready to hang that nigger from a church steeple
But instead
You pull her to the side
And attempt to belittle and humiliate her as you piercingly look into those soft, hazel eyes
Damn all those lies!
About how this is just your routine procedure
Are those the niggers come in?
No, forget the summons
Put her hands behind her back
And forcefully slap those cold handcuffs around her small, gentle wrists
“You have the right to remain silent through all of this”
Remain silent? Do you know who you’re dealing with?
The only thing I have to write are these words in my head
“What? Are you going to a little rap? I thought hip-hop was dead?”
I spit flames you moron
But in an oxy-moron, I do it well
I spray that fire that extinguishes the heat of living in a stereotypical poetic hell
I spray the fire that freezes the mind
Paralyzing your thoughts with my every line
Until you feel the chills run down your spine
And your thought become mine
I spit my poetry
I spit flames that will imprison you and put you in a metaphorical, lyrical jail cell
And when you try to break free
The bars that I spit will confine you and not let you out because my words hold the key
Keep throwing your racist thoughts at me
And I’ll make sure you stay locked up until my flames engulf you and burn you alive
Or I could just sit you in the audience and spit fireballs at you while I’m rhyming on stage at HarlemLive
‘Cause I spit my poetry
I spit…
Forget that
Let’s go all out
I vomit my words into paper bag ears that are often deafened by the constant rustling of nothingness
My mouth is a dragon ready to spit flames that would singe the gates of hell
So run tell that to the judge
‘Cause from my words, I will not budge
Is this all a little too much for you?
Am I spitting the truth just a little too fast?
Are my words stinging your eyes like a literary sandblast?
It’s OK, I’ll wait for your brain to catch up to my intellectual flow
… words, I will not budge
Is this all a little too much for you?
Am I spitting the truth just a little too fast?
Are my words stinging your eyes like a literary sandblast?
Good
Now that your brain is in sync with what I’m thinking
Let me reprogram some things
Black is beautiful
The color of the midnight sky on a starry summer night
The color of the berry when it’s sweet, plump, and just right
Black are the words in all literature that enlightens women and men
And Black are my thoughts when I express them to my paper and pen
So no I’m not a rapper who does some silly little rap
And no I’m not a criminal just because I’m Black
I’m a poet
Spitting flames through my blowtorch pen until my fingers get blistery
Giving me the authority to say words in my piece like “simple-ly”
I write to express and relieve myself
That’s why I do poetry