Dear Mama

I've waited 'til your birthday just to speak these words to you,

 

they're coming from the heart and mind; believe these words are true,

 

I let a lot of bullsh!t interrupt us; my mistake,

 

I guess it was God's way to show that it was mine to make.

 

I've been through so much stuff since then; a ton of ups and downs,

 

but you instilled in me the strength of not to f*ck around,

 

and not to take no sh!t from no one whether friend or foe,

 

and cherish every blessing 'fore I reach the end ya know?

 

You thought I wasn't listening but see I really was,

 

I don't know what was wrong aside from being really buzzed,

 

off alcohol and other nonsense running through my veins,

 

sincerity is me 'cause I'm your oldest son; I'm James.

 

The one who got infected by your love of reading books,

 

who even in the face of death was far from being shook,

 

the one who's now a writer; everyday I pen my script,

 

with mem'ries of you making me work on my penmanship,

 

and Moobie's death; it's tragic thoughts that help me see the joy,

 

of all of us in 83; we're just Almetia's boys,

 

from Stella Wright to Aldine Street we wore it like a badge,

 

of honor which now brings us to these present times of sad-,

 

-ness 'cause my bro's not here with me to celebrate your day,

 

I'll sit and spark some earth for him the elevation way,

 

I'll end this piece by saying Happy Birthday; more to come,

 

and I'll be there for those as well dear Mama; you're The One.

 

©2015 Your son, The Cunning Linguist