Genetically. Modified. Organism.
We do a lot o'talkin
And a lotta ppl mad at that name.
But I got dipped in the water to proclaim,
Im a GMO.
The fall of man didnt hold the power to tie me down no mo
My descension simultaneously displayed the ascension of my soul
My eyes glow with the reflection of my heavenly father who transcended from ***** feet with blistered soles
Ive been genetically modified to not see the world as which we know
We're living in the fog worshipping the money that we grow
We dont follow the narrow road
We dont love ourselves no mo.
Spent too much time bein broke
Caught a break, bought a whip
Bought some jays, bought some rims
But gettin towed
Whole house repoed
Iced out, chrome.
gold.
Investments? zero
We need new heroes

Drank the lies that ***** whipped into our minds while we were bleedin on his ***
Breaking earth and pulling weeds
We gluin weaves like, dawg. Where my edges go?
Now you tryna train yo naps cause everybody goin au natural
But you STILL mad cause yo curl pattern dont show that 2 percent of Navajo.
Changed yo hair but didnt change yo thinkin tho
Too long that permed subconscious sinkin through yo follicles
Mother earth dun been pulled harder than those edges
Act like you got some self-respect, go outside and clip those hedges
But her roots dug up
The seeds we sew
Aint enough to feed the whole
The rich, THEY bite the hand that feeds
But their stomachs; still on swole?
People like to get online and fuss,
Stop the GMOs!
Following the likes and living in fear sgonna leave the po--
HUNGRY. ..and po
I mean, what is science, fo?!
With climate change, and the persistent depletion of arable land, where yo seed gone go?
How yo plants gone grow?
Hopefully that won't have to be the case but I get the feelin
Mama nature's feelinnn
So'...

Shoot, Seasons dont know which way to flow
Cause we're walkin down the street throwin trash all on her flo
Like we aint neva been to anybody house befo.
Fillin it up wit smoke blottin out the sunlight
Making her plants choke.
Now the clouds broke.
Cryin acid rain and now your drinkin waters soaked

Im not tryna throw shade.
Im not half as deep as the aformentioned might denote
I aint gon lie
I dont
STAY.

woke .
I dont do my research on every clever quote
That I post
Hey, Im the FIRST one to let you know that I dont know.
But when I DO know
Aaaand I know fasho
And I hear somebody like, yeah this and that and so and so...talkin OUTside they ear. HOLE?!
I be like,
bro...
smh




-*sorry, I'm sleepy and have not proofread

You write poetry ?
she almost cackles in disdain.
Followed by an incredulous eyeroll
Who the **** reads poetry anymore.

She continued that's pointless
And unattractive.
How do hope to get a girl.
As though getting bedded
was the reason I write.

She introduced me to her sister
I wrote poems for her
Poems that spilled my soul
onto the paper.
She read them
and said she loved them.
She saved them
in a collection book.

Afew weeks later
She invited me to her bed.
A place where I still love
To read my poetry for her.
So many many years later.

I can't remember much. Just odd distortions of static vertigo and flashes of lighting that won't quite fit into my sky of memories.*
Bright sparks that disappear as fast as they came, forever out of reach no matter how far I stretch my fingers. Even when the pictures appear on the back of my eyelids like a slideshow of movies I think I have seen before, and my brain whispers that those, those are memories - I cannot tell what was real and what was not. The first reason is because, well, you know. The second is because memories dull, as memories do, when time goes on. I used to hate it, because of the way I could not remember. There would be long blanks where I cannot tell what happened, where everything was a sharp white. Time is a reminder that anything, everything could have happened when I was gone, and there would be no way to tell if it was real.

I can't remember much. Just odd distortions of static vertigo and flashes of lighting that won't quite fit into my sky of memories. But I remember he had rough fingertips. His favorite color was red. I remember that his teeth would have been straight if it were not for the tooth on the right, which curved inwards, ruining what would have been perfect symmetry. He had hair that would turn curly if it grew out too much. He always had some observation, some revelation that lit his face up like a spotlight when he turned around to explain it to me. *He was a brilliant shooting star that vanished before I could lift my head.

I cannot remember his birthday or when we first kissed.
I don't know if all the time we spent was real.

I cannot separate the truths from the untruths, but I know that he - he was not a work of my muddled consciousness, not a work of fiction.

*I know he was real, as real as the Sun himself.

we see the gold’s of a shimmering
sun fall on the horizon, the last of
day, leaving trails of hummingbirds.

the sky begins to mourn the last
of light, scattering breeze-like
in a cloud of dark ink.

the moon pours pearls into cloud
widens her eyes; the dark gathers
the pearls, softening like dream.

thick honeysuckle traces the
walls, the immense night
sings of love in a gentle voice

and as the tide sweeps clean the
wandering sands, beautiful and
infinite the last star falls.