Letter From A High School Jail Cell

I am speechless, and the mind is vacant.
My head's been pushed into ground that's sacred.
Out of impossibilities bring good things.
And from this socialized cage, I want to spring.

I had this theory that I didn't apply
To the rumor mill that gets the underaged high
That fills their jones when at night, they cry
To invent a story and replenish their supply

I can say, why? I've genuinely cared
When miles out of my way, defensively prepared
Formulated to minimize the unnecessary attention.
All of this, out the window for my apprehension.

There's an official warrant out for my arrest.
Fleeing is no option, so I remain a social test.
To be tarred and feathered, burned to the third degree.
Wonderin' like my ancestors, will I ever be free...

You Can't Blame Me If I Set This Stage On Fire

Straight off the corner of Apple and Eagle,
Brave Heart bitch like the times are medieval
Married to the game, divorced the Cathedral
Standin' on the corner selling porcelain to people
Forced into evil, its all in your head
It's all so cerebral -- call me Knievel
You follow then I'll lead you
Straight to the needles
The bottles, the battles, the beetles will eat you
Mama named Cita, I love You Cita
'Member when your pussy second husband tried to beat ya?
Remember when I went into the kitchen got the cleaver?
He ain't give a fuck - I ain't give a fuck neither
He could see the devil, see the devil in my features
You could smell the ether
You can see Cita
You can see the Cita, see the Cita in my features
and she dont play neither...

Lil Wayne Playin' With Fire

Breath of Light

As opposed to a Ray of Light. This is my second official freewrite, done after introduced to us in my Poetry RAW class. Too bad I went bananas before I learned how to do this.

I'm still going bananas, as the day grows yellow
My mind forms into a mellow stance
Taking this chance that those older than desired
Have a fire in them to continue governing
The lives of those ready to fly face first into danger
And suck it in, blow it out through smoke
Act immature because life is a joke
And never real
So their worth is just a piece of steel
Because it doesn't matter what they steal
A woman from a boy who had the courage to ask first
But they twisted his words so that they sounded worse
How low can you stoop?
How does your chain droop?
How is your sanity without any couth?
Do you make fun of a poof
Because he's living his truth
Or what? No more?
Everyone else is doing it, So it's in store.
Forget it, I'm still going bananas.

Piano & None

D.O.I.'s Neologisms

But first, please know that the mind is attracted to the first pairing it is able to connect. That is why the mind is foolish, especially if that happens here.

I learned to cherish when I learned to survive
Upon your gratitude my whole being thrived
I coasted through my days just to see your smile
Now you’re gone, and not just for a while.

No one will ever emulate your style
So the only memories of you have been filed
I feel my heart being stuck in denial.
And I want to decompose into a small child

So these people on the train won’t ask my tears
How they preserve and contain many years
Of heartfelt conversations, realization of fears
The invulnerability as I held your body near.

I grow further weary into the abyss
The pressure of your goodbye will burst this cyst
Growing in my head from the words that you said.
And the tone of your voice will always be missed

I must walk listlessly from your door.
Gradually losing value, eventually turning poor.
Was the expectation that I can go on now?
Independent, ripped from our solemn vow?

If so, wow, I mean that’s unexpected.
You were the half of my soul to keep me protected
The one that kept me guided in a schedule full of hectic
Demands placed on me. You took the darkness from me

When the others shunned me, you were there to stun me
So all of the hatred could be eviscerated from me.
And now I am free, unwillingly.
‘Cause each word that I write is softly killing me

I have no one whose words are filling me
Although your manifesting love is still in me.
They say, they always had commentary on us.
We were too good to be true, too good to trust.

But respect was a must when they turned me to dust.
And you rescued me before I was to combust.
For that I am robust, but for you, I am feeble.
I bow at your presence, though I’m considered an equal.

But here I am, sitting in silence
Sirens blaring in unending violence
Among this hellhole, you were my vibrance.
But the feeling dissipates.

You helped me to know both sides of the game
Answered my call when I uttered your name.
Saved me from behind a closeted door of shame.
But no longer can I felicitate.

I can’t force myself to move, only to sit here and cry.
As I play, and play again, your longest goodbye.

Birth of the Cool

Birth of the Cool: 20 Black History Month Pioneers

People forget fashion is art. Fashion and style are cultural aesthetics, and these men defined their art forms and ideologies through...well...how hard they stunted.

                                                           Peep the pinky ring...


"...Its in a black person soul to rock that gold..." Kanye West Diamonds Are Forever Remix

"Yeah, I'm 'Bout that Brooklyn..."

As if Shawn Knowles needs anymore publicity, but this is pretty interesting...




Nothing we haven't heard before. Only thing I really found interesting was him swerving down 8th Ave (or was it 6th?) and watching kids play in the city, how most people from his neighborhood never even experienced anything like that.

I can relate.

I remember leaving my neighborhood was a goddamn treat and a half. My moms would only let me go about five blocks out when I was little - I couldn't even cross the big boulevard. So a trip to Manhanttan? Fugedaboutit. I remember passing the little playgrounds by TriBeCa and thinking, damn..how would it be to grow up like this? Me and my mother and our brown skin playing beneath the sun by the lake in Central Park?

Even now. In high school, niggas would throw on their flyest shit to JUST go out to 42nd street. I mean True Religions with the cuff shoved into the tongue of some Pradas. Bubble vests. Polos with the big ass logo on the chest.  Even chicks. Skinny jeans with their biggest purse. Gucci caps and lip gloss. High heels or flats. We wouldn't go to club, or eat, or catch a movie, but just to be out there. In the city,just to be somewhere that wasn't gray and brown. Somewhere with so many lights that stars didn't seem like such make believe. 

Ah well, "things happen for a reason." I hate that quote but, eh...it applies.

Shouts to Absolut for giving me some crazy nights.

Forbidden Love

De-Organized Iniquity's Neologisms:


I've gotta ask. If I write something, does it have significance? If I don't believe it does, should I not record it? If my shit sounds corny, should I even attempt to continue writing? Or should I start over? I've been exploring this because I have been in a slight creative slump. I haven't written anything striking lately. But does my stuff need to be striking to be effective? No idea. I have located my very first CD where D.O.I. was born, when I and Tye Breezy here were young and stupid (what, she tripped, fell and land on his dick?) And, I sat and listened to it so determined how much I've grown from writing those awful and uninspired songs. That is what they were. Because of that struggle, I do think that if I write something today, I intend to have significance attached to it. But, it's a forbidden attachment. But, I am still thankful for having the ability to speak with forcefulness.

The ground beneath me shakes in denial.
Not in the frame of mind to begin another trial.
My amorous appetite hasn’t filled up for a while
And my vocal cords, the emulation of a child

Will lay waste to this crooked road
Using weapons of truth that have been bestowed
Cracking under the debt and burden that I owe
My skin assimilates further as I lose my flow.

The guide of my step, the power of real
The adoption of trust, the seven Godly seals
The travelin’ light, losing its touch of surreal
And so, my wisdom, I return to covertly steal

The truth I seek will not be universal appeal
I’m serving a concurrence, so comprehend what I feel.
Treading away from Sodom with my foot on a crack
The indefinite symbol for me to never come back

And the method for me to obtain what I lack
The semblance of ingenuity with the force of a smack.
I’m going to beam at your head this now secular fact.
Duck any and everywhere, ‘cause here comes the attack!

Beware, and be very aware. I strike when it seems like it is least warranted. But it is the most.

Waiting

D.O.I's Neologisms:

If there’s a reason you won’t return my goddamn phone calls,
Please alert my still disfigured membrane know now.
So, I won’t have to devise a plan or make a vow
To submerge your face in sand or force you to take a bow

While not letting your enlarged gluteus hit my doorknob on the path out.
I’ve done the math thirteen times. Counted of 1,000 hours, over ten times as many lines
I’ve been Angelo, Maxime, Othello, and still I remain blind to what you mean.
Nothing “seems” anymore. It just freakin’ is.

So, I’ve tried to keep busy, handle and run a “biz.”
Discern the concrete reality from all of this empty fizz.
And it’s oblivious that I need aid.
I’ve come to a quick realization from a simple form of disrespect.

I mean, how dare you expect me to refer to you other than douchebag
If douchebaggery is all you choose to fill my plate?
I can relate, as back home, they greet you as a “nigga,” if that’s all you choose to show.

And, since it must go on, if you desire change, please procure it
Demonstrate to me you can be just, reside just on the cusp of greatness!
Or remain fake. I guess I have to still ponder you
Since my party is late or isn’t answering.

Be off. I refuse to associate with your atrocious influence.
Let your daggering effects be dissolved in my tears.
And let my sword pierce your weakness through my fears.
Because I have nothing better to do while I sit here

Waiting for this damn phone to ring once and for all.

"It's Like we got Merril-Lynched..."

Our father, give us this day our daily bread ...
Give us these days and take our daily bread,
See I done did all this ole' bullshit
And to atone, I throw a little somethin somethin on the pulpit.
We took that shit, measured it and then cooked that shit.
And what we gave back was crack music
And now we ooze it through they nooks and crannies
So our mammas aint got to be they cooks and nannies
And we gonna repo everything they ever took from granny
Now the former slaves trade hooks for grammies
This dark diction has become America's addiction those who ain't even black use it. 
We gon' keep baggin' up this here. Crack Music.


Malik Yusef Crack Music