what the soul wants the most is not in reach and education and achievement are plastic barbie dolls being hung on a tree by the neck ..crave what is real and what stays beyond the world of i am so cool and look at me lets do a little dance of make believe for I think I am made out of green and plastic and dollar bills and concrete for my name is not what my ancestors have called me but i am what the man has made of me I slither and swoon to his tune and forgot what it is like to love and my vision has become blinded by anything and everything that destroys ancestral ways I will put out your light with a poison take your pick step right up and die I will slit your throat with your own passions Jump Jump from the highest lie and fly for when you fly all your troubles will be taken care of or get that ticket take that chance say Good-bye Listen though for life is sometimes like a dance on a hot bed of coals burning the shii out of you and then its like ice cream dripping down your chin and you tasted pleasure for a moment Just one moment rolling those eyes in the back of your head Damb that was good candy on the brain and blew your mind wide open to “what ifs” Kiss of life or kiss of death yeah open up the window and let one in or get out but which one for one is sweeter then the other but both can be peaceful Kissing deep and kissing long and kissing hard
I am pooped and long for the embrace of good honest conversation. My girlfriend and I had just that the other day. We ate Cornbread and she ate the eggs and bacon. It was good girlfriend time. Then we went for a walk in the warm sun and enjoyed the sounds of NYC and still shared and walked and shared some more. These moments tend to be very healing and reminders that one is not always alone.
Lately something has been on my mind. The State of the people. The ones that overlook it and the ones that continue to make sacrifices for the future generation. We are a wounded people. History has some how torn apart our love for one another and self. The lack of concern by many sometimes makes me sad. There is a huge unconscious group that breeds self hatred and needs to be reintroduced to their own history and ancient ways. I still feel that I can do something. Drop a small pebble of change into the pond of humanity and watch a small wave move across praying and chanting that it reaches the hearts minds and spirits of the next generation.
My Afrikan and Cherokee Spirit does weep sometimes for I feel that my struggle is futile. Especially when I see the brothers afraid to love the sisters and the sisters afraid to love the borthers. We need to embrace each other just as much as we embrace the almighty dollar…title and status. I will soon try my hardest to enter into the belly of the beast and exchange words with the brothers that have some how been forgotten. I personally have encountered the scar that has been left on the backs of our Black Families. My brothers and Sisters alot of them from broken families run away from the concept of families. I see that fear of love is a serious illness that cripples us to move on. …and give birth to future leaders. We must remember the ancestors that have been burned lynched and castrated so that we can arrive to this place. They did not die for us to arrive here with unconscious minds nor fear of embracing each other with love. When you love who you are then you will love the community. You will become a healer of thyself and seek to heal encourage and embrace all that cross your path.
I saw my good old Mom’s on Saturday. She was busy working for Obama and then she was busy with helping to fill the old seat of Hillary Clinton. Once she got into Politics she has just been on the road. It was good to finally see her. We met up and did some shopping and chatting at her favorite store Nordstrom. As I walked up to the Volvo we both laughed for we do look like each other. She talked about her and my fathers recent trip to Paris and the very expensive clothes she recently purchased but does not wear. She blew more money that day. She wanted to buy me a 300 purse but I was like why. …but I did like the 100 dollar purses. She loved the lace bras for 45 at Victoria secrets and said “ooo Maluwa how pretty” and got me a few with matching thongs. Shes cooler now in her older age and layed back and funny how time flys.
Coming from an upper middle class family has its advantages but the love that remains is more important then the money. Still I look forward to our next visit together. She is getting ready to do some two month out of the country or out of the state trip. More Power to her. I did tell her to Pamper herself more and may meet up with her and my father at a High End Salon in NYC for Spa day. Then we could go chill and get some grub. That would be kind of fun.
Anyways today I am getting over a nagging cold…and drinking lots of liquids.
Another pretender With lies falling off a tongue trying to taste my honey A false prophet dressed like a pauper but talks like a king… and moves like a Thug A jive turkey poor excuse for a brother dipped in chocolate but never in tune with his own Afrikan nest Walking the streets looking at pretty girls to validate his lack of manhood and his lack of place in the world Lies become the roots that bind him to the concrete that kill and poison his seed Lies and desire for flesh become the chains that bind him to the western world Blinded Blinded by bling bling and bootylicious dreams Not even aware not even awake that the man is still stepping on his throat with this unconscious superficial mind fu– Not reaching deep down into soul like ancestors long ago The Poom Poom the ding dong and the mind all gone No books in hand no words of wisdom to keep the young ones growing and reaching for something other then their d– How far we have come from kingdoms long ago I can hear The Ancestors screaming and crying as we continue to hate each other to lie to each other to be afraid to love each other to run from each other to not trust one another to take… to use… to kill each other over and over again until there is nothing left but the flies sucking on the imprint of our memory
