There’s a long-held belief that
how to get to where we at
is do the things that we did.
So, soon to be repeated
are the stories of the struggles that my brothers and I went through—
staring out the windows of apartment buildings,
building our imaginations, waitin’, patient, not complacent,
hatin’ stomach achin’. Momma makin’ eggs and bacon.
Left too late to take the public transportation,
so it’s pacin’ on our own two.
I never really want to,
but paintin’ for you pictures, so you’re sure to see it vividly,
is how you will remember me,
and if not, you can visit me in memories.
I mention these to give you the illusion that I’m using what I learned,
but really Truth is complicated.
I kind of made it more to cope with
the “dope” shit,
the day we all lose hope in,
the twist, and tell nobody you inhale ‘cause you in Hell,
and you’ve been well behind the “well drinks.”
A sloppy little secret—
your friends are all so thoughtful, so they keep it.
You’re seeking higher answers, and Granny’s Cancer can’t be canceled out,
so you’re like Jo Jo Dancer—man enough to stand and walk it out.
I’m talkin’ ‘bout the love you lost that
barely gave you your heart back.
Inspiration for Art that
almost got you to start back
on that downward spiral that made you feel you were alive
because you’re facin’ your death in every second, and you’re surprised
‘cause you ain’t died,
and you ain’t wise enough to know why.
You just want more, and you can’t find enough in your guys.
And it ain’t no High, no Love to talk you out of your Hate,
so your breaking point is the moment you decided your fate.
And you take it upon yourself to go’on and write it all down
despite the fact it’s real emotional, or how it might sound.