IMAGINE AGAIN
for a stage performance
(heads toward the page):
hoping I haven’t lost it
(hands shaking)
still gripping my pen
but my callous
has dropped
so close to the bone
you wouldn’t
even have known
I scrolled
unless you’d seen
my books at home—
children roam
from street to street
looking for a place to sleep
cause’ they’re tired
of being spoon-fed lies.
besides, it gives you “itis”
and “aient’ none us
round hea’ is niggaz”
so you might as well
run back to yo’ massa’
and tell him
the revolution
just got started—
I’m sorry but this isn’t honest,
I know your all listening.
and I told Kyle at the Christening
that he’d be named Michael
cause’ even the Jackson’s
would want to moonwalk
in his shoes
to follow in his footsteps—
fiddling forward
toward a future that left
me
forested by fate
chose to follow my heart
beat
stop…the beating…
it hurts
and she didn’t dance
as fast as me
but could hold a note
with her smile
that could sing me to sleep—
so why must we weep
when wandered
far from where the love walked?
“keep smiling and dance,
I’ll hold your hand
as long as your afraid
to let go
when I spin you away
from the turntables.”
I’m not
able
to break dance
nor can I dj
but I hear
I’m a good listener.
the children spoke
in tongues
but I couldn’t understand them
cause’ I’ve stopped watching B.E.T
and I believe that if you give children
more textbooks
and less tape decks
they’d learn that every
rapper doesn’t have to preach platinum
to paint pictures
for a youth blinded
by lights
that “bling” off of watches
while young William watches
how to grow up
and be a Big Willie—
mamma said, “don’t be silly”
but I’ve laughed my way through life
for so long
that death seems a joke
when your pockets
have been broken by hope
and you can’t even afford
to pay attention
to the warning signs
even though your in debt
and owe yourself an apology
for falling so far from grace
that eight men
in white gowns
saying “Amen”
couldn’t save you
from the self you’ve created
with a crayon
on the canvas of reality.
the truth
has spray painted itself
on the walls of my imagination
to awaken my sanity
and remind me
that I have some cleaning to do—
before spring
falls over me
like a winter without words—
speak now
or forever hold your prose.
I’m tired of writing.
Stop.
“but how can we ever be rich
when I am a Senior
with no sun
in the season of sadness
wearing a Junior star on my chest
that does not shine?”
a mind is a terrible thing to waste
and I’ve already spent too much time
crying over love lost—
so now I wear a rich smile
over a face
not exactly painted to perfection
and my lips,
slightly flawed
from smoking truth
down to the clip,
speak for justice
and children—
excuse me,
it’s been a while,
I’m nervous
and afraid
that you might understand
what I’ve been saying
and really start reading
my books.
I’ve been getting by
on my looks
that I can’t seem to see
the picture
my mirror is trying to paint me—
I’m a reflection of my father
but he doesn’t know it.
I’m a reflection of the streets
but can’t show it
because badges
and blackface
don’t mix
and the only tapping sound I know
is the one between the table
and this page
so even Savion couldn’t help me
Bamboozle my way
out of spilling the blood of truth
in blue ink
all over white pages
just to show my blackness
bloom through the fields of forever
where children of all colors
join hands and play together,
eyes reflecting the sun—
be careful
her smile brightens moments
and made me light headed.
I fell just short of fainting
and faced her fragrance,
smelled memories
and grew hungry—
full off reality
I’ve stuffed my daydreams
in my diary—
dotted my i’s
crossed my heart
and hoped to die
for what I remembered—
some kisses do taste like candy
and I’ve got a sweet tooth for truth
and love the way love’s cavities
carry me
home.