In some destiny vessel sails.
Bound on a mission success to see:--
Ignore prejudice and travesty
Of critics' judgments, whether it fails
Or nay. Though my ship should wreck,
Let not my faith in Christ roam
Aimlessly on the high sea of tempestuous
Life; for I, like Paul, must get to Rome.

I had a dream
To live in the mountains,
With a dog,
A black border collie to be exact,
Become an author,
Write a book
But still
Hang out in that mountain.

I had a dream,
That one day
I'd go on a road trip,
Just me and my best buds,
Snapping photos,
Chatting,
Just living a life
with no worries at all.

I had a dream
That I'd grow up happy
Don't care about the money,
Don't care about the stress,
Just happiness.

I had a dream,
And you?

You crushed it with a
All your
Might.

The author?
That's never gonna happen
Because you're gonna spend
Seven years studying
Architecture
Designing buildings,
Being all techy,
You won't have time for your
Stupid little dog,
Or your mountains,
None of that would

Exist.

Your road trip?
You'll be spending time on the road
In congestions
Towards the city,
Where you'll go to work
Where you'll suffer
For the rest of your life.

Until
You
Die.

Your worst idea
Is growing up being
Happy.

Happiness is when you finally become
Successful,
But that ain't never gonna happen to you,
Success isn't for lazy pigs
Who cause parents to split apart,
Who ruin lives,
Who dream of stupid dreams
Like living on mountains
With a dog.

You're gonna stay this way,
Forever,
Perhaps be my little servant one day.
You wanna talk about dreams?
Well my dream
Is to
See
You
Suffer.

I have one last dream,
It still lives on
It grows bigger and bigger
Every night.
It's the only one left,
That I still hold onto
Dearly:
To save someone
From a car accident,
I pray it's soon,
I pray it's now.

Then finally,
I'll prove you wrong,
And I'll finally die

Happy.

I wear the letters NYU sprawled across my chest as my individuality is asphyxiated.
Lungs choke under the weight of the added pressure. 

The thought of college plus my complexion,
Equals complexed looks that ponder my intellectually-heightened direction. 



Will you think a little bit more of me, with my conformity?



Attempts to better myself meet enough ignorance to even cloud the vision of God.
Segregation and alienation cause mental spasms the strength of lightening rods. 




I guess you're just a product of the environment to which you were exposed. 


But I'm always trying to fight the stereotype that black people are ultimately foes.



I am the ant and the kids of rich parents are magnifying glasses. 

Cremating me with the solar power of son's who were taught that their existence was worth more than mine. 



I lay motionless, in bottomless quick sand pits, itching to alleviate my stomach stitch, engulfed by set standards that could not be met. 


I am tired of trying to be what you'd like to see.
Astute, respectable, young black man-just so you can approve of me and hopefully think that we are not all "up to no good."



Say it loud,
I'm black 

And I'm,
Not going to lie,
The proud part is kinda hard to say. 


Because I walk down the street and see my face in the homeless everyday. 


I fill the prisons and I'm famous when the news reports crime. 

And when I show up early to interviews,
they look confused to see that I,
Don’t run on Colored People's Time.



I don't hate black but I hate the fact that black means that sometimes I have to find alternate routes to success. 



While other people's roads are already paved, I suffer from all the stress. 



I try my best but I'm always categorized as less, then a man. 


And I'm trying to change perceptions but I still feel like a visitor on American land




And the poor are physically trapped so I relate mentally.

We both suffer from the oppression and accept the hatred like it was meant to be.




Society has led you to believe that blacks are not worthy of equality



But take a long, hard look into my eyes and tell me that you don’t see my humanity.

Early morning
book on Schopenhauer
under your arm
cigarettes

in your pocket
you sat in one
of the cafes
in Dubrovnik

having ordered
a coffee
and lit up
to smoke

the book
put on the table
the ashtray
set so

you observed
the passing people
the females mostly
the gentler sex

as is said
the sway of skirt
or dress
the fine legs

the shape of foot
the figures
slim or plump
the mental study

of the shape of ass
the tightness
of tits
and all the while

at the back
of the mind
the idea of God
the faith required

seemingly lacking
the St Augustine view
wanting to be saved
from sin

but not just yet
the waiter
brought coffee
and cake

just the nibble
for the breakfast’s sake
and you thought
on the night before

the walk in the City
the lights lit up
the passing crowds
the concert

some pianist
playing Chopin
you and your brother
side by side

taking it all in
making the most of
and the indulgence
of wine

and the chatting up
of the waitresses
at the hotel
with no success

and you opened
the Schopenhauer book
the print of page
the scatter of words

ideas too deep
for the morning sun
you closed it up
and sipped the coffee

took a drag
on the cigarette
viewed the cute ass
as it passed you by

summer dresses
short skirts
tight tops
in all colours

shoes or bare feet
to please the eye
and the idea of God
observing

listening in
secretly pleading
maybe you do
or do not

to be absolved
from sometime
the deeper sin.

The future generations scare me.
It's like a constant revolt against parents, apparently.
Everything cool involves sex money or drugs,
And every single one of them thinks they're a hardcore thug.
Those things can be cool, no doubt.
But lifestyles can drain lifetimes.  Be  weary what you sprout

These attitudes are infectious, alternate forms of cancer.
Take the "bad bitch", while the lover falls for the dancer
-Whose soul is in tune and grooves to the serene energy flow.
Give up the facade that you put up just to put on a show.
Sure it entertains those that don't grow,
And the weak of heart.
No wonder the bridge between us and success is so far apart.

There's a difference between a thug mentality,
And being an idiot.
Tupac did what he could to positively change the world.
Don't let your mark be insignificant.
Be yourself little homies and study close, those you idolize.
Make choices to create something better,
Rather than just fantasize.
It's in your eyes, the hurt, burdens most don't even see.
Believe in yourself enough to follow your passions so you too can be free.  

Turn off the TV, step back and breathe.
Focus less on what you want, and more on what you need.
I am much more than an active observer.
I'm a teacher to those that want to listen,
As well as an every day learner.

Turning away from society's got me happily, singing the blues.
Don't be another product amassing products or you will ultimately lose.
These are just my views, you choose, but I see something grander.
Build up the temple inside yourself with wealth, and share it with the poor.
That's what I feel is something worthwhile to stand for.

A standardized suit.
A universal fit for
all those
who do not feel the nourishment of food.

A career path
cut
through the hem of childhood
and choked by a cheap thin
patterned tie.

The mothering
of a paranoid system;
“it’s not my fault,
just jump through the hoops.

I get paid to read you this book.
Lend me half your ear
and I will half teach you:

Think.
Don’t think.”

Spot the simile.
Dot the t and circle the i.
And I.

I am all in a room painted
with flyers.

They work like road signs,
luminescent with lasered ink
and ladled with pictures
of success.

You can.
You can’t.
You shall.

They hang
like smiling convicts on the wall.
A warning shot to remember
every time you catch yourself
staring into the sky.

Your t.v. is the enemy, selling lies, sex, and material nonsense.
A box of greed, sex, and violence in the home of every man, woman, Silence! I'm trying to watch this!
One is never enough, not for us, more, more, more, we want more says the little girl selling cell phones.
So with our hard earned pay, we go bankrupt, buying all this worthless, mind numbing, junk.
Even in poverty, a child goes hungry as the mother updates her facebook with a link to her booty bounty.
The rich man with the perfect life, wife, kids, dogs, and a picket fence, aborts born children, whatever it takes to get rich.
Seems success in this country of billionaire heiresses is simply sex tapes on the internet.
There was a time, we as a nation were to be proud, hold ourselves to higher standards.
In this evil day, I can only pray, have mercy on this country, and a debt it will never repay.

I see it in your eyes.
Your fear.
A fear of the unknown.
A fear of taking risks.
A lack of success.
A lack of effort.
A lack of motivation.
A lack of going for your dreams.
A frustration.
The dry threats.
"I'm gonna come down there and kick your ass," you say.
Like dry heaves.
It's retching.
The nectar of youth slithering away.
Your trying to grasp, clamp so tight.
You are lost.
You've given up on yourself.
And you're taking it out on the rest of us.
You're drowning.  
I love you.  But I can't help you.