A Letter to Myself       Dear Self, 
I don’t remember exactly how it started 
Where you are going or where it began 
You often ask me if it’ll be worth it in the end 
And I reply, hold on to faith at least until then 
I have become your unwritten journal 
The sanctuary for your most hidden thoughts 
You, you’ve become my most precious jewel 
Coal that only gets more valuable under heat and pressure 
A diamond not roughed up enough 
Your path has been mapped out for you 
You have seen it in your dreams, 
But I can not walk it for you 
No one else can travel your road of success 
Your journey is trademarked 
You are worth more than gold 
More valuable than your perception allows you to hold 
Let it be what it will be, let the rest go 
Your fate is no longer in your control 
One day you will reach your target of becoming a man 
Until then, move at God’s spee...  | 
  
  
  
       
      Life Bag of Sorrows       My last words to my forgotten man hood: 
The blade's tip fore-played pleasure, 
pressure waved salutations to pain, 
and my skin proved permeable 
as my cells were intruded by guilt. 
All I have left 
is a half ripped food lion bag 
filled with sorrows. 
Your apologies held less weight 
than the feathers you flock with, 
and so I quickly adopted two moral principles: 
first; 
I'm sorry is not an apology, 
but rather an excuse to maliciously resume 
beating my feelings worse than Rodney King's 
battered chicken for flesh 
second; 
life's short...life's too short for some 
so now I don't hold grudges 
I hold liquor until my liver's content, 
and blackouts elicit greater pleasure 
than foursome orgasms to a nymph. 
It's like 
my whole life you've been fumbling 
in your con-artist get-away bag of lies 
searching for the right sized dag...  | 
  
  
  
       
      Malik       Here lies your road map 
Your GPS to being a man 
1.	Always be a leader.  Responsibility is sometimes stressful but more rewarding to lead to victory than follow the blind into a losing battle. 
2.	Define your morals early and stand by them.  Stand for something or fall for anything.  I think that’s how the saying goes. 
3.	Understand you are a diamond and so you must expect pressure.  True diamonds never break under pressure they just shine. 
4.	There is no right.  There is no wrong.  There is only the truth.  I learned early from a great man, the highest truth is being true to you.  No one likes copies, stay original. 
5.	While some women react purely emotional, remember that if you are doing right continue no matter what anyone tells you.  Not even me. 
6.	Every woman has the potential to be a queen. I stress this because as young men we often forget it takes a woman to carry a child, it takes a mother to raise one. 
7.	Y...  | 
  
  
  
       
      Chi-Raq       In my home town… 
In Chicago… 
In Chi-raq we witnessed more deaths last year 
than Iraq during war with the U.S. 
My home base is a battle ground 
A war zone with no middle ground 
We fill trenches with empty bodies 
Play chicken with shallow graves 
I’m from the city 
Where even shooters with the prettiest of aims 
Realize bullets have no names 
So on any given day, 
A corner you pick 
Could force you to become a statistic 
In my home 
We play chicken with shallow graves 
Raise our youth to be slaughtered cattle 
Teach them at a young age to be mindless sheep 
The blind leading the blind 
And it’s been so many years of the same last names on obituaries 
That fam doesn’t always get to say ily (I love you) 
Before loved ones lose at chicken, 
And bullets leave powdered stares in innocent chests 
This is a ple...  | 
  
  
  
       
      Creatures of Habit       History will repeat itself 
She will come back 
They always do 
What goes around comes around 
So it only makes since 
That we rebound like boomerangs 
In a circle called life. 
Endorphins burst out 
We’re addicted to the pain 
Or the need to heal 
Warned about the dangers 
Still proceeding to burn 
Attracted to the pain of the flame 
Like moths scorching in fiery desire 
Of repetitious hesitations 
Karma suggests 
What goes around comes back around 
She will need to come back around 
They always return 
Predictable, vulnerable creatures 
Falling into the pot holes of habit 
A street car named desire 
On a road with no purpose 
Decorated by dead end signs 
What do they drive back to? 
Barren lands and dented lanes of misery 
Practice doesn’t always make perfect 
Especially if you practice the wrong things...  | 
  
  
  
       
      Pretend       that the same way we discovered love 
could bring amnesia to our conception of hate again? 
Can we pretend, 
for a moment only once race exist; 
the human race, and we are only separated  in the mind 
by how much sun radiation touches pigment in skin? 
Sometimes I don’t like the painting of my own skin! 
Can we pretend, 
that everyday causes unity 
the terror of 9-11 all over again? 
 
Most of today's conflictions 
are our own human inflictions. 
A society overdosed on paranoiac prescriptions, 
we're living in a world on contradictions. 
Aliens to the intellect dormant in our own minds, 
sun absorbing zombies defined by our wasted time. 
 
Seasons lost, ancestors buried. 
Prisoners to history's repeat, ants hurried. 
Microscopic fire-flying firefighters burning to take off, 
small pieces to a bigger puzzle of peace 
we are all God's fragments ...  | 
  
  
  
       
      Venting Part I       Blood splattered on her hand 
As she waited for his money 
Counting just enough change 
To warm himself up for the morning 
A coffee 
Revolted from the thought of whatever sickness he had 
She ran to the back of the store 
“Ugh, I’m not taking his money†
Attempting to sustain professionalism 
I walked up to the gentleman and finished the transaction 
He coughed 
I couldn’t help but notice the red droplets of shame resting on his fist 
His eyes said thank you for recognizing I’m still human 
As the group assembled outside he followed 
With a smile he started conversation 
Only pausing here and there to cough 
He told his story 
How his family abandoned his existence 
How the woods had become his home, his resting grounds 
How he walked the streets for an escape from his outdoor prison, ironic 
How he learned to appreciate livin...  | 
  
  
  
       
      It's Not Rape       Her voice cracked 
The podium stood still. 
“It’s not rape if you get paid for it†
This was her opening line 
That demanded the attention of so many eyes 
She continued. 
“I wrote this poem to say I forgive you†
“It’s not rape if you get paid for it†
Words shouted into my soul after every incident 
It started with your boyfriend 
He told me he wanted me to know what love was 
I begged him not to love me 
He stroked his manhood into my innocence 
Until I came out of my innocent nut 
My bed sheets stained by a punctured cherry 
You washed the guilt away for some pay 
I pleaded for you to love me 
“You said it isn’t rape if you get high from it†
The only time you told me I was beautiful  
Was after the powder blurred your vision 
The local dope dealer 
Dealt you an ultimatum you couldn...  | 
  
  
  
       
      Venting Part II       We stood outside to smoke 
Somewhere between too late at night  
And too early in the morning 
We assembled like robots 
Inhaling puffs of therapy  
In the midst of systematic conversation 
We took turns 
Bouncing our problems off each others minds 
Each waiting for his or her turn to let loose 
All we needed was to vent. 
After too many precious moments had been wasted 
On trials and tribulations that in the large scale of things 
Should never even matter, 
A man who had been standing there unnoticed finally spoke 
“At least you’re breathing†
This man, a statue of humility 
He spoke with the authority of Mufasa  
We sat as young cubs and listened 
“Today’s my 50th birthday 
To celebrate I think I’ll walk the town a little 
Before going back to my woods†
He coughed up blood into his fist 
Before taking...  | 
  
  
  
       
      The Lost Angel        A soul misdirected 
Needing to be intercepted by protection 
I need your cold truth, 
A touch of winter God 
I’m trying to be your winner God 
But in my heart’s center  
I’m a sinner God 
Praying for your righteousness to bring me closer to my center, God 
Help me 
Find my way into your complete image 
No cliff notes, I need no abridged versions 
Your completeness is perfection in your every word 
It’s been years since I’ve sat in one of your pews 
When you call upon me will you spew me? 
Check my name into your book of permanence or act as if you never knew me 
Truly, 
I am honored that you ever used me 
You are the greatest chess player, and I am privileged you saw this pawn 
Deciding I was important enough in your strategy and moved me 
And just when I though you had let loose of me, loosing me 
You defended me twice...  |