Just Friends

Uneasily assimilated to this new nation of infatuated,
where permanence is a penance debated,
love and hate equated
sides saying I’ll not be committed lest of lust be acquitted or emotion forfeited
What some fought for after forbidden for granted we take and keep hidden
Were limited by unlimited possibility, our over abused ability to easily set free that which no longer heats below to the proper degree
Where lies morality when deception is a clarity we pretend not to see
For the warmth of a body and chill of impenetrable heart ignorance to rationality is the unloving fee
but desperation for lusty perspiration and false acceptance are key…

A Broken Heart

kisses fall on top of shattered pieces of dreams

trying its hardest to piece everything back together again with the soft, sweet action

the action is repeated simuntaneously, slowly dispersing all the negative weight that caused it to shatter in the first place

lost dreams and hopes are now faded into dust and particles that was once a heart

a heart that was held captive by thoughts, imprisioned by false promises

happiness slowly drained from it, causing it to crack and slowly break…

now his kisses fall on top of shattered pieces of dreams

trying to piece back what he wants to gain

-Alkin C (peaceluvhappinessmusic)

backseat brilliance.

black boys and girls
pretty faced latino boys and un-graph-able latina curls
all in the back of class
most of em acting an ass
taking a backseat to their edumacation
only interested in intimate relation

but in the class’s abyss
where the darkest stories are in the midst
sits an intelligence, a gift, an art, a talent
stronger and as powerful as our talent

from the girl that can put on any performance and play her face to its part
hoe, slut, whore; but an actress’s Oscar looms, waiting for her in the green room
to the boy swiping metro-cards at the platform, all the ambition in the world
his drive more determined to be unconquered, makes the spin of an F1’s engine look like a twirl
the beautiful boys and girls who use a sawed off shot gun’s blast as a starting shot
the one that show humanity when tears drop as the apply pressure to the wounds that won’t clot

young warriors who don’t know anything but to fight
praised by his peers as he stands up for his family; yet turns on the same ones that very night
cannot channel the aggression, the torment, the pain, the insecurity
planting children in the plural, but all their innocence couldn’t make a drop of purity

which brings about young mothers, wiser beyond their years
questioning their young warrior’s future, turns dreams into fears
so they sacrifice their babies to save them from being shot down by those they don’t know
a mother’s love? others aspire that they will prosper and bring them forth to show

praying on subway cars and daydreaming in pissy elevators about their and theirs existence
hoping with everything that unlike them, they will bring forth their backseat brilliance.

He's my lover...

Because he could cure my world with a word or kiss from his mouth.
Because he could lift me to the stars when my life was going south.
Because he said I was the best he’d ever had before the song came out.
Because I could go to him and he’d have me any time with no doubt.
Because I felt lustful in his rapturous embrace
But equally tranquil afterwards and safe
Because I could be naked right down to my soul
With no worries or judgment just free to lose control
Because when everyone was backing down leaving me alone
He stood for me stronger than any rock or stone
Because until this day I live for his caress
Because because of him I can forget the rest

Blinded

I don’t want or need to be piggy back ridden
I never beg or plead to be unhidden
you reveal or contain unbidden
I have no greed no airs to put on
so if you choose to be gone
who am I to call it wrong
I was here before your head became bigger then your brain
before you were blinded by minimal fame
if I’ve learned to play its you who put me in the game
Its easier to hate
what you chose to create
I offered what I knew but you chose too late.
I stare at a stranger while you ignore a truth
I don’t have evidence and I don’t need proof
before you came along I was innocent youth.
Said stop looking down, stop speaking that way
a transformation in less then a day
for you I’d perform any which way.
So many you trained in turn
you start the fire to anger at the burned
reassured karma is a lesson you’ll learn
So give them an image adorn them your art
just remember those there from the start
the ones whom leave the shell and aim for the heart

wifey season - solomonsdaughter

as the winter months roll around && it gets cold
snow starts dumping && hats n’ gloves are sold
so are the hearts of so many boys
as they focus on one girl; deafen all the noise
hold on to one chick to keep em warm
through out snow days && snow storm
bringing em girls hot chocolate, giving up they hoodies
mo prone to wanna cuddle with a movie than get the goodies
finally realizing a woman’s worth, kinda what Alicia was talking about
trying so hard to keep yall together bringing down all the fault
on himself, even if he ain’t do nothing
understanding there’s nothing like the warmth of a woman
less likely to cheat since not a lotta skin be showing
thinking a lil straighter, acting like they got halo’s glowing
best take advantage of his increasing reason
get cha status right, cause its wifey season.!

two years ago this time around.

Street Product

A jolt of pain explodes in his chest

causing him to lay back down.

Images flashing through his mind,

thinking about the ungrateful deed he has done.

Ungrateful, immature, selfish

He let his body be his gun.

Taking shots at whatever specimen he could find.

He only does it for the rush, so that he

could receive his prize.

The one thing he centers his whole life

around; the white.

It’s been a battle with that street product for years now.

His life turned into a routine.

Endless nights and short days filled with

sweat, tears, violence.

His area is the demon’s playground, skies of gray,

not one light to be found.

He lays down, ready to take his last breath,

worried about which dumpster his body will be laid to rest.

Times of regret follow him, slowly tangling him

in a smoke of death.

He still tries to find that high; the white

but he always wonders why.

-Alkin C (peaceluvhappinessmusic)

Polarity

neptunelle:

Everything I’m not, probably will never be

Still complementary to what I am

All the things I dream I want

Yet in every day I work so hard to not have

In all good sense I shouldn’t desire

But intuition says you’re something I may need

Or maybe I just delude self into thinking you could improve self

That’s just typical we

Our differences our detriments

Somehow they meld to our credit

I could nourish you

You certainly ground me

So natural, the symbiosis almost unreal

Typical we

In vain, I try to organize what I feel

But the free flow of messy thoughts of you are inevitable

Wander through my unconscious mind many possibilities

But the reality stands perfectly in front of me

How irresponsible of me to find inspiration in you

Typical me

-Unfinished. Just like our business. Can’t find the right words to say, But can I ever? Until then, [Virgo], something is better than nothing.

kevin-anthony:

No final sentence without a beginning, 
Each word expressed has its own meaning, 
To write is to spill out entangled thoughts,
To unlock imagination itself,
Because not everyone is free,
Most are prisoners of fate,
Chained to containment.

My mind has been concealed, 
Bound by the structure of chaos,
Following the rules of the shadows,
A life of dark-faded figures.
Shattered portraits of hope,
A world devoted to seeking something else,
To obtain a better phase,
To become someone more.

This moment begins my transmutation,
My genetic code changing within,
Shedding the dark shadows of my mind,
Becoming free of this weight.
Replacing the broken frames,
Giving hope a settled place,
Becoming the someone I can be,
Becoming the real me. 
This is the beginning.

The Revolution Will Not Be Televised

You will not be able to stay home, brother.
You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out.
You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and skip,
Skip out for beer during commercials,
Because the revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox
In 4 parts without commercial interruptions.
The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon
blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John
Mitchell, General Abrams and Spiro Agnew to eat
hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary.
The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be brought to you by the 
Schaefer Award Theatre and will not star Natalie
Woods and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia.
The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal.
The revolution will not get rid of the nubs.
The revolution will not make you look five pounds
thinner, because the revolution will not be televised, Brother.

There will be no pictures of you and Willie May
pushing that shopping cart down the block on the dead run,
or trying to slide that color television into a stolen ambulance.
NBC will not be able predict the winner at 8:32
or report from 29 districts.
The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
brothers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
brothers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of Whitney Young being
run out of Harlem on a rail with a brand new process.
There will be no slow motion or still life of Roy
Wilkens strolling through Watts in a Red, Black and
Green liberation jumpsuit that he had been saving
For just the proper occasion.

Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies, and Hooterville
Junction will no longer be so damned relevant, and
women will not care if Dick finally gets down with
Jane on Search for Tomorrow because Black people
will be in the street looking for a brighter day.
The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no highlights on the eleven o’clock
news and no pictures of hairy armed women
liberationists and Jackie Onassis blowing her nose.
The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb,
Francis Scott Key, nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom
Jones, Johnny Cash, Englebert Humperdink, or the Rare Earth.
The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be right back after a message
bout a white tornado, white lightning, or white people.
You will not have to worry about a dove in your
bedroom, a tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl.
The revolution will not go better with Coke.
The revolution will not fight the germs that may cause bad breath.
The revolution will put you in the driver’s seat.

The revolution will not be televised, will not be televised,
will not be televised, will not be televised.
The revolution will be no re-run brothers;
The revolution will be live.

Gil Scott-Heron

Woman

she wanted to be a blade
of grass amid the fields
but he wouldn’t agree
to be the dandelion.

she wanted to be a robin singing
through the leaves
but he refused to be
her tree

she spun herself into a web
and looking for a place to rest
turned to him
but he stood straight
declining to be her corner

she tried to be a book
but he wouldn’t read

she turned herself into a bulb
but he wouldn’t let her grow

she decided to become
a woman
and though he still refused
to be a man
she decided it was all
right



Nikki Giovanni

i refuse to rap about my pussy.

inpresstheempress:

it shines so bright
misleadin the sight
givin absolute reasonin
for thoughts of warmin
yet cold rushes
powder ears with blushes
frozen to the core
i wish to be mislead no more…

Artistic Ability

reasontoexhale:

There’s so much I wanna say with a paintbrush and canvas.
But I can only express it with pen and paper.
I would paint all the colours in my mind.

I tried to paint you on a black canvas, no less.
No light colors I painted the dark images you burned into my memory.
The imagery was so vivid the strokes were laid with such ease.
Memories of how I tried to appease every conflict with you.
Such a pacifist I was for you.
My soul died tryin to live my life according to your LIE!
I just wanted you to want me as bad as I needed u.
I didnt claim to be what you need,
But damn I was your fiend.

It feels as though you chastised my heart for imaginary future indescrestions.
I doubted my ability to love because you didnt want me.
I became scared and feeble even tho it was plain as day to see that I wanted to love you when I thought I needed you to love me.
Foolishly!
I let these emotions control me.
But never again. I will rise above and through the storms life has given.
I take this artistic ability to portray my deepest insecurtites without showing your through idenity…….To be continued

Working Girl

I fell in love with a “working girl”
But you have no right to judge her, for you dont know her like I do
You do not understand the heart of this fallen angel
I remember the day I came across the cherubic woman
We were in a record store and I stood motionlessly as her soul grabbed hold of Coltrane’s tunes
Finally, I walked over and expressed my attraction vocally
Asked if we could do something socially
And her face lit up like the sky on the 4th of July
But as quick as it lit up, it dimmed
She told me that tonight, She would be working the “Night Shift”
Shamefully, gravity pulled my head toward my chest
But her Index and Middle fingers forced it back up
She slid a folded up piece of paper into my hand, held it for a second or two, and let go as she walked off into the horizon
It would be some days before we connected again
But when we did, the physical attraction had taken over
And we moved a little too quickly into some sexual activities
Truth be told, she rocked my world, leaving tears in my eyes
And she held me until my body stopped shivering
While kissing me slowly, forcing my bottom lip to start quivering
It was that afternoon that she explained to me her occupation
Explained to me how she gave up her body so that her family could have food on the table and keep on the lights
Explained to me how much her lifestyle dissociated her from the innocent being she once was
Explained to me how she wishes that she could change her occupation
Then she her hand out and asked me to help her change the situation
And it was at that moment that I fell in love with a “Working Girl”
But you have no right to judge her, for you dont know her like I do.

Thank You

-Ibrahim Abdul-Salaam Ramzy