Hello world. As we all know, I haven’t been available for an update for a pretty long time. I have been busy trying to make all kinds of things happen. Some are and some aren’t. I am, however, going to the NAACP state meeting this weekend to speak to people about Hip-Hop of all things (what to say, what to say?…guess you’ll see if you’re there). Anyhow…new music, new poetry and new posts coming soon. Right now I have papers to write, papers to grade and life to put off until I’m not busy anymore. Until next time, let this thought tide you over. Its not meant to be cryptic, but maybe you can figure it out. My love song really is different. Peace.
I used to love her…
probably still do, that’s why we still cool.
Feel too much to let her go ‘cuz what we been through
been too extraordinary.
Less or more its scary.
More or less, I’m married to the thought that feelings often vary.
Coffin carry—funeral—our love: the opposite of life abundant.
Attitude is pungent—opposite of nice. I’m wondering…
listening to R&B music, spazzin’ out…
I’m realizing what Jazz’ about. I’m Kind of Blue,
like Miles Davis, troubled—no trumpet;
no outlet; no power; I just bump this.
Want this letter to you, Love, to help you understand
that though we’re not together what we had helped me become a man.
Wanna stand on my own two, and so I lay vocal tracks…
and hope to see this message rolling back, and not your eyes.
Thinking about your thighs and other guys,
I’m surprised I don’t despise you and hide behind a disguise
like this Music.
My love song is different. I listen before I listen,
and sittin’ and reminiscin’, invent how it could be different.
But it was written…
and you’re the fruit that’s forbidden.
If I’m spittin’ it probably ‘cuz I’m bitten.