LeviKips - Hello Poetry

The Skin Color

0

Feb 10, 2020

Feb 10, 2020 at 4:18 PM UTC

The Difference Between Police Brutality and Business As Usual

Fact! Zebras can’t sleep alone. In a way I know how they feel. Every New Years Eve’s night, the hood turns into the Serengeti and I’m the zebra waiting for my zebra friend named silence so i can feel secure enough to go to sleep. Cause when the glock strikes 12, the ferocious bullets escape their caves, pouncing through the air, hunting for prey so they can send them to the destination where prayers lay. This is a daily fear living where i live but on December 31st its the only time where its a promised flat line when the countdown meets its deadline, so that's why I wait it out, don’t sleep alone until i’m accompanied by the zebra of silence. When she came into my life, she made me feel whole. So whole that our love created a zebra of its own that guarded us through the night. Our love was so strong we slept through the annual running of predators that i usually wait for silence for until i can relax. When she left she took the sound of silence that existed before her. Now every night I'm accompanied by the sounds of the memories we shared. Even though those sounds aren’t as vicious as a bullet’s roar in the middle of the night, it is just as crippling to this wounded zebra heart of mine that stripes are black and blue now instead of black and white. The sounds that used to scare me are the ones i take comfort in cause it beats the sounds of her voice occasionally creeping into my conscious. With the sound of predators roaming at night it reminds me of a time that i was alone and had no problem keeping that way. A time where depression never knew me on a first name basis. A time where I'm just a zebra waiting for another zebra to go to sleep.

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Feb 6, 2020

Feb 6, 2020 at 11:39 PM UTC

Zebra

Fact! Zebras can’t sleep alone. In a way I know how they feel. Every New Years Eve’s night, the hood turns into the Serengeti and I’m the zebra waiting for my zebra friend named silence so i can feel secure enough to go to sleep. Cause when the glock strikes 12, the ferocious bullets escape their caves, pouncing through the air, hunting for prey so they can send them to the destination where prayers lay. This is a daily fear living where i live but on December 31st its the only time where its a promised flat line when the countdown meets its deadline, so that's why I wait it out, don’t sleep alone until i’m accompanied by the zebra of silence. When she came into my life, she made me feel whole. So whole that our love created a zebra of its own that guarded us through the night. Our love was so strong we slept through the annual running of predators that i usually wait for silence for until i can relax. When she left she took the sound of silence that existed before her. Now every night I'm accompanied by the sounds of the memories we shared. Even though those sounds aren’t as vicious as a bullet’s roar in the middle of the night, it is just as crippling to this wounded zebra heart of mine that stripes are black and blue now instead of black and white. The sounds that used to scare me are the ones i take comfort in cause it beats the sounds of her voice occasionally creeping into my conscious. With the sound of predators roaming at night it reminds me of a time that i was alone and had no problem keeping that way. A time where depression never knew me on a first name basis. A time where I'm just a zebra waiting for another zebra to go to sleep.

13

Traumedy, The Black man's new mode of coping. It sounds like stand up but it looks like gasping, clawing, or fighting. I have friend whose fighting handicapped just to be understood, his opponent is a fusion of normality and vulnerability they are just heads on the monster of toxic masculinity. My friend reaches for help but vulnerable responds that's a hand shake. My friend makes jokes about death but normal said morbid humor is the new black. My friend cries for help but traumedy translated that as a knock knock joke and what he gets in return is LMAOs. When my friend steps outside he gives life to the world while on the inside he's increasingly contemplating about giving his life back to the world. He thinks his life is nothing but a punchline waiting for a flatline. He's in pain but he never directly says it. What he say is: what do you call a hilarious pun about suicide? A real wrist splitter What he say is: what do this party and my brother have in common? they're both dead I want to go and hug him and tell him it's ok grieve, I want to tell him that I hear him. It's normal not to be ok but sometimes toxic masculinity is so strong that it strings my mouth closed, rendering me useless, like a voodoo doll. But here's an open letter to the traumedian in him, dear tramua it doesn't take search light to find the star he's bound to be, his personality stands out like a figure in the spotlight no matter how much darkness he's surrounded by like country skies. I can clearly see the stars in him like a country sky. He can be the next Robin Williams when he was the genie guy. But Every time he stands up and do a stand up his traumedy constantly foreshadow his curtain call before he can get his big break. To my friend who See's life only as a light polluted sky at night, your life has more to offer than a end of a joke or a flatline.

0

Nov 5, 2019

Nov 5, 2019 at 12:52 PM UTC

Black Trauma Laughs

Traumedy, The Black man's new mode of coping. It sounds like stand up but it looks like gasping, clawing, or fighting. I have friend whose fighting handicapped just to be understood, his opponent is a fusion of normality and vulnerability they are just heads on the monster of toxic masculinity. My friend reaches for help but vulnerable responds that's a hand shake. My friend makes jokes about death but normal said morbid humor is the new black. My friend cries for help but traumedy translated that as a knock knock joke and what he gets in return is LMAOs. When my friend steps outside he gives life to the world while on the inside he's increasingly contemplating about giving his life back to the world. He thinks his life is nothing but a punchline waiting for a flatline. He's in pain but he never directly says it. What he say is: what do you call a hilarious pun about suicide? A real wrist splitter What he say is: what do this party and my brother have in common? they're both dead I want to go and hug him and tell him it's ok grieve, I want to tell him that I hear him. It's normal not to be ok but sometimes toxic masculinity is so strong that it strings my mouth closed, rendering me useless, like a voodoo doll. But here's an open letter to the traumedian in him, dear tramua it doesn't take search light to find the star he's bound to be, his personality stands out like a figure in the spotlight no matter how much darkness he's surrounded by like country skies. I can clearly see the stars in him like a country sky. He can be the next Robin Williams when he was the genie guy. But Every time he stands up and do a stand up his traumedy constantly foreshadow his curtain call before he can get his big break. To my friend who See's life only as a light polluted sky at night, your life has more to offer than a end of a joke or a flatline.

21

Labelist theory states: If a person is labeled something they are not and they don't agree with, one day they will stop defending themselves and be exactly what they are accused of being. I'm being called an arsonist by a jury of my peers. By a jury of people who hang with me but now listening to someone who solely wants to see me dangling. I find myself constantly trying to protect my image like copyrights. But no matter the protection plan I enstate, I always find my name somewhere being defaced. I guess respect, loyalty and friendship wasn't enough to protect something like that. If it is then why am I catching charges. Why am I catching OJ treatment when yall say I will be missed like Ladanian on the chargers. Why is action only taken when the news say to take someone out like Michael Vick and not when a player asks you to look at the real problem like Colin Kaepernick. Maybe I'm not the one on trial, maybe this trial was a trial and error to see if this jury was a jury of my peers in the first place. And if this is the case then this a mistrial because I won't allow people who say they will miss me like Ladanian to the chargers be the same ones to take everything I worked with to another area code and call it by the same name. You can foot me the Bills because this is a OJ glove that I see fit. I am arsonist to the ties we had because that same rope won't be my nuse. I set fire to all your expectations of me because I won't watch my name get defaced like your personal property anymore. I accept your label for me with open arms because there is some borderline truth behind every sterotype, rumor, or lie because I have found mine.

0

May 5, 2019

May 5, 2019 at 12:14 PM UTC

Labelist Theory

Labelist theory states: If a person is labeled something they are not and they don't agree with, one day they will stop defending themselves and be exactly what they are accused of being. I'm being called an arsonist by a jury of my peers. By a jury of people who hang with me but now listening to someone who solely wants to see me dangling. I find myself constantly trying to protect my image like copyrights. But no matter the protection plan I enstate, I always find my name somewhere being defaced. I guess respect, loyalty and friendship wasn't enough to protect something like that. If it is then why am I catching charges. Why am I catching OJ treatment when yall say I will be missed like Ladanian on the chargers. Why is action only taken when the news say to take someone out like Michael Vick and not when a player asks you to look at the real problem like Colin Kaepernick. Maybe I'm not the one on trial, maybe this trial was a trial and error to see if this jury was a jury of my peers in the first place. And if this is the case then this a mistrial because I won't allow people who say they will miss me like Ladanian to the chargers be the same ones to take everything I worked with to another area code and call it by the same name. You can foot me the Bills because this is a OJ glove that I see fit. I am arsonist to the ties we had because that same rope won't be my nuse. I set fire to all your expectations of me because I won't watch my name get defaced like your personal property anymore. I accept your label for me with open arms because there is some borderline truth behind every sterotype, rumor, or lie because I have found mine.

3

*The way she tells me I'm hers and she is mine Open hand or closed fist would be fine The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine.* I love hard I love like a boxing glove loves connecting with a jaw, or my jaw. Or My love loves connecting with me sometimes that she forgets to wear the gloves, or get a referee, or let me know that we are playing this game. I only know to play along when I hear the bell ring, or if there's a ringing in my ear from her love taps and she's in that love me stance. That stance the world ALWAYS misinterprets The world says that stance means I'm the enemy But they don't understand our language In our language that means she's about to give love to my heart like CPR, so open up and get ready for a pounding. So open up and take my heart that is yours, nothing about our love is Taxidermy it is as true as purple is for royalty or purple for my skin every time you show your love for me. This is not abuse, she's not a tornado and i'm not a Kansas home She's only testing my foundation Separating the weak parts from the strong That's normal right? For the first time i'm doing something normal right? Thats why we tell our sons to Man up right?! we punch our sons but kiss our daughters. I'm just doing what i'm told: Risk it for the biscuit Do what boxers do, sway with the punches, don't resist Others say what if this is abuse I say love is like any drug, and what's a drug without its side effects. When we lose consciousness together at night, that high is worth all the burning sensation retaliation words I build up in the back of my throat like **** When we are alone and I can finally inject her in my system heroine, the track marks she leaves after loving me is the best part cause even when she is gone I can look down at the marks and feel the love all over again. My love is the only drug I need, it hits hard but.... *Thats the way she tells me I'm hers and she is mine Open hand or closed fist, its all fine The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine.*

0

Mar 27, 2019

Mar 27, 2019 at 3:43 PM UTC

Cherry Wine

*The way she tells me I'm hers and she is mine Open hand or closed fist would be fine The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine.* I love hard I love like a boxing glove loves connecting with a jaw, or my jaw. Or My love loves connecting with me sometimes that she forgets to wear the gloves, or get a referee, or let me know that we are playing this game. I only know to play along when I hear the bell ring, or if there's a ringing in my ear from her love taps and she's in that love me stance. That stance the world ALWAYS misinterprets The world says that stance means I'm the enemy But they don't understand our language In our language that means she's about to give love to my heart like CPR, so open up and get ready for a pounding. So open up and take my heart that is yours, nothing about our love is Taxidermy it is as true as purple is for royalty or purple for my skin every time you show your love for me. This is not abuse, she's not a tornado and i'm not a Kansas home She's only testing my foundation Separating the weak parts from the strong That's normal right? For the first time i'm doing something normal right? Thats why we tell our sons to Man up right?! we punch our sons but kiss our daughters. I'm just doing what i'm told: Risk it for the biscuit Do what boxers do, sway with the punches, don't resist Others say what if this is abuse I say love is like any drug, and what's a drug without its side effects. When we lose consciousness together at night, that high is worth all the burning sensation retaliation words I build up in the back of my throat like **** When we are alone and I can finally inject her in my system heroine, the track marks she leaves after loving me is the best part cause even when she is gone I can look down at the marks and feel the love all over again. My love is the only drug I need, it hits hard but.... *Thats the way she tells me I'm hers and she is mine Open hand or closed fist, its all fine The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine.*

36

I'm the one I'm who you show your parents I'm not who you tell friends I'm safe choice I'm the rebound I'm the medicine for confidence I'm below average I'm Igor I'm below average I'm "some day" I'm below average I'm "not in a million years" I'm talented- But not enough to look athletic I'm "you look like you're in the band" I'm too short to be athlete I'm black- But I'm not the black you see in movies. I'm "you know what I mean?" I'm that guy, somebody you used to know but not somebody worthy of a song I'm a place holder I'm bare minimum I'm the perfect shape on your personality search- But I'm not the right height But I'm not the right shade But I'm not the right time I'm not the right Greek organization I'm what you looking for But I'm not the one

0

Dec 24, 2018

Dec 24, 2018 at 2:31 PM UTC

I'm your ex

I'm the one I'm who you show your parents I'm not who you tell friends I'm safe choice I'm the rebound I'm the medicine for confidence I'm below average I'm Igor I'm below average I'm "some day" I'm below average I'm "not in a million years" I'm talented- But not enough to look athletic I'm "you look like you're in the band" I'm too short to be athlete I'm black- But I'm not the black you see in movies. I'm "you know what I mean?" I'm that guy, somebody you used to know but not somebody worthy of a song I'm a place holder I'm bare minimum I'm the perfect shape on your personality search- But I'm not the right height But I'm not the right shade But I'm not the right time I'm not the right Greek organization I'm what you looking for But I'm not the one

31

When you said you loved me only my left eye cried. When we together, my left side only knew love. When we were together my left side was the one you layed on. When you whispered your words of affection in my ear the left ear was always the receiver. When I was clinching your existence on a nightly basis my left arm was always on the bottom. Because my right arm was always the shield. The shield at night, the shield during the day, my shield for you, my sheild against you. The reason my right eye didn't cry too, because it's used to pain from you. My right side was both your offensive target and your defense mechanism . My right side knows what a knife in the back feels like because of your hippocracy and your hands. My right side knows things that my left side don't want to believe. Know how many times I use my right side as a bulletproof vest to danger, to the world, to you and then still be your soft side when she decided to take off the gloves. When you told me you loved me, my left side cried not because it loves you too, but for the first time it experienced pain. Pain that was only reserved for the right side. Pain that we both agreed that the left side shouldn't be exposed to like child watching their parents divorce. Unlike my right side, the left side's pain can't be healed with an ice pack, or aloe Vera, or even a good meal. When you told me you loved me was the day I became ambidextrous. The day my right and left side saw eye to eye.

0

Dec 24, 2018

Dec 24, 2018 at 2:25 PM UTC

When said you loved me

When you said you loved me only my left eye cried. When we together, my left side only knew love. When we were together my left side was the one you layed on. When you whispered your words of affection in my ear the left ear was always the receiver. When I was clinching your existence on a nightly basis my left arm was always on the bottom. Because my right arm was always the shield. The shield at night, the shield during the day, my shield for you, my sheild against you. The reason my right eye didn't cry too, because it's used to pain from you. My right side was both your offensive target and your defense mechanism . My right side knows what a knife in the back feels like because of your hippocracy and your hands. My right side knows things that my left side don't want to believe. Know how many times I use my right side as a bulletproof vest to danger, to the world, to you and then still be your soft side when she decided to take off the gloves. When you told me you loved me, my left side cried not because it loves you too, but for the first time it experienced pain. Pain that was only reserved for the right side. Pain that we both agreed that the left side shouldn't be exposed to like child watching their parents divorce. Unlike my right side, the left side's pain can't be healed with an ice pack, or aloe Vera, or even a good meal. When you told me you loved me was the day I became ambidextrous. The day my right and left side saw eye to eye.

1