Whatchu Know ‘Bout Id? (Selfish)

Freud’s theory of the id, the ego and the super-ego. If unfamiliar with Freud, he is a big name in early Psychology.

 
Id ain’t right but id ain’t wrong either
Id ain’t got nothin’ to do with nobody else
Id about id’s self, ’bout id’s nature
But id don’t give a damn ’bout nature
Id give a damn ’bout free
Id could care more ’bout me
But id gon’ do what id wants to do
Id’s the secrets told inside of you
Id ain’t right, id ain’t wrong either
Id ain’t got nothing to do with nobody else
Id that ish suffixed to your self

9-24-16 Read at The Artist Bloc 

​To Erykah 
You bad, u

Bad, u so bad

You renamed your kah

That soul fly free

Your soul fly free

Your soul so bad u

Got a window seat

To a conscious God

So you go on

Being woman

You go on 

Being human 

You go on

Being clever 

And keep on listenin

To old school funk

Yet singing like future

& apple trees & hip hop

Your soul bops

Like church deacons

During prayer

But your voice bad

U, u, got sumn extra

U got sumn special 

You got sumn wright

You got Seven Mars-Pumas

You named ’em 

To rename themselves 

I see you, and girl

U just bad, u just

This somethin a poet 

Got to write about

Cuz you been my muse

Since like 2007

And that’s the name if your sun,

And my freedom, was born 

’round 2011

I rhyme using numbers

I’m a real bad poet

But i’m BAD at math

Took me bout X-yrs

To realize $3.60 = 360°

The number of completion

Just like the number 7-

The name of your son!

Damn, I am a genius. 

Men from Mars, we so strange…

But women are Earths. 

They God’s creatures like mountain lions=

A silent puma that jumps over 7ft high

That’s a complete circle = Cypher = the name of my kitten

360°= a complete circle

Gotdamn I’m doin math!

These words be Mathematics

Christ’s tomb be the “rolling stone”

God Born (Jaborn) be the God-

You named God in your song!

Going “On & On”!

Yall, she just might be a prophet-

Tess. Yes, that minus “Tess”

I had enough room to say “prophetess”

But I said she might be a PROPHET

Peace and blessings

Do manifest with every lesson learned 

And my knowledge is my wealth

And i studied, so my wealth is earned

That’s a part of the life I’ve lived

And on & on and on & on just ‘is’

And God knows God manifesting

That’s right, “peace and blessings”

Like one day I’ma be on “Rolling Stone”

Be manifesting

These still be mathematics

She sick with these numbers,

That’s why she bad and ill-matic

“Illmatic”

Be an equation

But we did not do our math

That’s why she laughed!

Ya’ll she bad, u just didn’t get it

And she my mother

I’m her son. 7 is the number of completion. This year I’m 27. 

The evidence goes on & on

I’m a man, we from Mars. My best friend Lant, Brown Venus, be like my sister. 

We both love this poetry-she jump high, bout 7ft,

(That must be the “meters”)

Poetry = just like a “puma”

Girl, Erykah, we be your children

In another lifetime! Girl, damn,

We already living! 

If you read this poem,

I bet i’ll sound just like your son

And my “mama” be like your mama. 

And this poem so devine, like Loretta

This my poetry! Turns out i’m great at math!

I’m really bad = OneVoice Ill-Matic 

​I Never Believed I’d Live It…

I am the same me that i have been
Before I grew and learned my skin

Could be the difference between

The human or the criminal I could’ve been
I never cursed my skin

I never cursed my skin

Why do they curse black men?

Why do they curse black women?

Why do they curse their kin?
White man I am your equal

White woman, you are mine

Black woman you’re my mother

Black man, I am your rhyme 
Black people aren’t the evil

Rewriting the truth of time

I am the same me I’ve always been

Though now, I’m afraid of dying.

Read at The Artist Bloc 9-9-16 (video coming soon)

​I wait to see a Blockbuster film 

where the teenage protagonist 

helps a struggling father get peace

by writing a poem so moving 

the landlord signs over the deed 

so long as that young poet

Calls him on the first to read

Another poem ’bout a love so deep

The landlord has to contemplate the land,

Considers the words in the poem

And realizes he owns his acres secondhand

‘Cause the poet’s voice resembles

his grandma reading “Footprints In The Sand”

Which reminds him of his slaveowning grandpa

Who purchased people like people purchase land

So who is he to charge per acre

What is owed to every man?

The pursuit of happiness not the Ideals of capitalists. 

School has to TEACH us to understand

That freedom is synonymous with wealth;

The change exchanged from hand to hand

All this in a poem. He loved the art

And how it inspired him to understand

That poetry’s a divine language,

A burdensome gift from God to man

This is the triumph I want to see

On the big screen, yes, I demand

New voices to write what they see and

how they speak– all for which they stand! 

King David was a poet. God’s heart. Now…I understand. 

A sinner man “after God’s own heart”, 

He sought God in the gift written by his own hand. 

God so loved David despite his sin

because He, too, killed a righteous man. 

Reminiscent of God sacrificing His son

To leave those “footprints in the sand”.

Such a beautiful film, too bad its a poem.

True Art: historically censored OnDemand. 

Read at The Artist Bloc 

​Now I’ve been told my passion 

For poetry tends to inspire 

So maybe I should speak to the poets 

And be the wick, this poem be the fire

To set ablaze every stage on the page

I’m writing nicely but inside I’m enraged

I love poetry so much I’d rather be paid

To share my gift, punch my fist

My people did not begin as slaves.

I’m writing simply, please don’t be amazed

I do even better than this stage

I got pages waiting for me, when I write,

My God!, I praise. Multiplied my talent

I did the math so now my question’s valid

What’s the purpose Whats the purpose

I know yall never heard this never heard this

I’m a scholar and an artist

a prophet and an author

These aren’t punchlines, they’re my truth

Been a poet since early youth

But I knew I had something to prove

I’m rhyming for the rhythm 

Creating music with my words 

I’m an artist and a scholar

I’m prolific if you consider my words 

I’m gifted, I manipulate verbs into nouns

I explain why ciphers go on and on

Transcribe why Mary kept going down

I write like God wrote salvation on sin

Consider the words: God is a poet. 

I’m humbled to be God’s pen.

#ConsiderTheWords “Surgical Approach To Poetry”

Don’t just watch the video.
Consider the words…

My mastery
Is the appendectomy
Of the appendix
That is to say,
The useful
additional information
To help you understand
The thesis in each poem.
I construct
With intent.
Frugal with words,
A mere complement
To my ability
To communicate
Artistically, meaning
“Universally”
As in, “to all”
I do this in my sleep
I write this poem
In less than 10 minutes
It takes me less than
1/10th of a second
To consider a sentence
And how it will
Convey meaning
To you, the reader
Or listener. The audience.
You cannot applaud
my true mastery.
It’s at the end
Of this collection
Of poetry
I’ve been writing
My whole life
Poem by poem
I impersonate voices
Acting out character
analyses of poets
I respect
I’m not finished yet.
I’m revising while writing
Both literally and figuratively.
To understand my proficiency
You’d have to open your mind
Like the sky
I naturally think
As deeply as others think
While high
I’m writing this poem
Yet seeing through your
Collective eye.
They couldn’t teach me
Genius.
I was born with that
In the same way
I was born gay
And economically Black
Its astronomical that
Constellations aligned
For me to be born Black
Gay, male, and all that.
Perception matters.
But do you see
The genius
Once the words
Are considered?
Genius is more Common
Than the evidence delivered.
The evidence is explained
By someone’s interpretation.
Colleagues challenge the thoughts,
Try to focus on facts.
They try so hard but
There’s one thing they all lack:
The ability to see the world
In a movie that’s all Black.
They understand “matter”
But consistently
Negate the understanding
When the movement is Black!
Perception matters!
It’s a method of science.
I’ve mastered poetry
You can tell by my defiance.
This is a surgical poem.
Remember? An appendectomy.
The appendix is a metaphor
For my “mastery”.
Two definitions.
I’m working with both.
Most genius is simple,
Like trusting God’s Ghost.