Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Livi M Pearson Dec 2016
My father never called and said im sorry i miss you
Yeah love is hard but trying was truly the issue
Im not gonna lie i could cry but life wont give you a tissue
So i ****** it up
Being brave stuck like a suction cup
Laugh it off like i never gave a ****
My life was ***** but my moms was a mess
If others saw my struggle they would consider my life blessed
They saw people tumble and crumble for less
But the real ones always wish you the best

Heroine addicts follow streams under thin skin
Your slowly killing yourself again and again
Skipping lifes movie waiting for the credits to end
10 shots 20 cops lock one man in a pin
Thick bars with faded scars poetry without the paper and pen
The problem is that there is no help
Just many witnesses
Guilty to the soul who fails to show us his innocence
You didnt do the crime but blind minds cant see the differences
Yes we all sin like the ending of the book of genisis

People need to understand the struggle
Know that some people dont have the muscle to stand
No family to give him a hand
Distant relationships so far like earth to mars no stars to climb on
All alone dial the phone no ring tone
Shhh
Silence like dumpster babies
Mothers making deals with hades
Couldn't afford prescription ******
So you wait 9 months to take 9 seconds to get a garbage bag
Throw the baby away then run off to class
You dont wanna be late
Today a good lesson about the value of fate
Learn to own up to every single mistake
Ok your sorry well im sorry your late

There is a hussle in the struggle and its hard to recieve
That there are many different people who struggle with fees
Too many of them its like your dealing with flees
You need someone to bless you
But you forgotton to sneeze

Every body is losing grasp and keep on falling on knees
Tryna hide behind cover but there is no leaves on the trees
The hussle of a struggle is always hard to achieve
Only one savior can make all man truly believe
I havent posted anything in a very long time
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
i just don't some things,
i don't understand that under the pretense
of writing very little
being able to write a rhyme is enough
to suggest that you're toying with
an art-form...
   personally? i don't know how i got here,
but right now that doesn't really matter.
the whiskey is cold and a cigarette is
only 10 minutes away, gone is the macho
strive to impersonate the Kray twins,
or in that line of thought: blue for boys
pink for girls,
why is the transgender movement happening?
erm... could it be because of
gender stereotyping?
   it probably has nothing to do with
annexing the words from St. Thomas' gospel,
it could really be a rebellion against
                 gender stereotyping...
out comes a woman dressed as a nun,
then out comes a woman dressed in a niqab....
  curtain-sellers! i knew it!
                 what's pajamas in punjabi?
     chuckles?    chack'ah chuck chittering?
**** me and a throng of sparrows, land ahoy!
what i don't get is that there's a science in poetry,
poetry for its lack of volume gets this leechy
science of itemisation, this vague anatomy...
i don't think i write for an anatomy,
i ****** well hope i don't write something
worth an anatomy... i basically write to give people
a feeling of eating sushi, or raw red meat...
    i entrust them with the notion that it's a narrative
that needs to be there between having a glass
of whiskey... i don't write with the hope of being
itemised and stripped bare by some English students
equating a metaphor with liver...
******* bog-standards... i really do not understand
this whole concern for a hussle-and-bussle
that surrounds poetry: you have a ******* pelican
taming the skies, why invite a Mongolian beehive
to fill in the blanks intended with "notes"?
     it's to do with the fact that you don't need to
strain your eyes, *******, it's not:
i write sparingly so you have to comment...
           why note the ****** crap from four words
when you're intended to sorta spread them out,
and feel them over a spectrum of a few days,
so that there's no synonymous-amgiguity ascribed
to them, which means you can act upon
deviating from the idealism of words thought,
and antonym them within the realism of words acted
upon...
        i just can't stand people mutilating poetry,
they're not even performing a postmortem surgery,
they're hacking at a stump of wood
    in a forest, when there are so many trees to be
looted...
               again the point... maybe the transgender
movement is due to the fact of gender-stereotyping?
blue boy, pink girl, salmon fading pink of shirts on
metrosexuals? hey, Sherlock! i'm not the answer!
   what i'm bothered about it the fact that
poetry attracts bothersome flies...
who feel a need to make poetry into prose:
economically speaking, yes prosaic literature is
worth the money, with more words in a chapter than
in a poetry collection.. how's your eyesight though?
    then there's this girl, a Joe Pachelbel (sorta),
and she does the worst thing imaginable to poetry,
the educated norm...
              the bothersome fly bit...
              it's just narration girl, it's just narration
too lazy to invent characters fake schizophrenia
          and say too many words that don't appear in
urban conversations about a ****** or a juicy mango...
and that's why i think people are put off poetry,
the fact that poetry is like this magical artefact that
might give you eternal youth... that you have to
scrutinise it so much that you almost get sick of it...
you couldn't even if you tried put a question of metaphor
into a journalistic entry...
                      so why put so much science into
an area of the humanities?
            where's the feeling part, and the part where you
have to create volume from poetry for it to compete
for an existence alongside prose?
    most prose works these days don't even deserve
a campfire anyway... in the same way that poetry shouldn't
really accept all this excess of narrative,
it's like people who read poetry are characters in
    a prose novel, they're asking for the part of
lynching the narrator into suggesting less ambiguity...
   in prose the narrator is almost too easily discredited
from playing chess, in poetry the chess pieces gain
consciousness that they're being moved and subsequently
rebel and ask too many questions...
          what the **** dragged me into this realm?
the question serves itself...
   and even donning a cravat or a boutique corset you
suggest not talking *****...
   then off the donning attire gets ripped,
   and it's heathen sprechen in onomatopoeia of
knocking on a door to open, a flower to open in spring,
a ***** to get juicy, and de Sade coming home.
                i say fiddle with the idea of a river...
  end this bogus fly-trap of people playing surgeons
with poems like they might play doctor with dolls...
                 it's getting annoying:
it's written sparingly for a reason, the blank spaces between
the words is not a prompt to comment and vandalise
the poem, which they do; pristine bourgeois? you'd
think, wouldn't you... graffiti on some urban slum wall,
a comment in a poetry book: same ****, different cover.
i never understood why they needed to say
so much about poetry in order to make it
economically viable to compete with prose custard,
     i just thought: poetry and photography are akin...
say much more than the photograph endorses
and you've just started blinking...
         which to the photograph in-itself means:
  look at another if your eyes are watering with
            peppery tears that itch; and another... and another...
and another.
Styles May 2014
Be patient, it might take some time. Just, let it build up. Don't uncross’em  it will feel awesome. You should know yourself, what works best, rolling or rocking? Don't think about it, just relax. Use some muscle, the one between your legs. Hussle; ruffle and tussle, it’s like trying to make a puzzle fit; sometimes you gotta wiggle it a bit, a little bit.What’s wrong, you looked puzzled? You red, so into it. lights out; so intimate. Now try feeling between the lines, you have to focus a bit.  Forget what you read; and what's been said; you won’t go blind, it’s all in your head. The only time you should lose site, is when you re-sight this vision in your head; closed eyes, on your loveseat, sofa or bed. Just repeat it in your head, like Simon said. **** around and hit the right button, you might wet the bed.  My sign language tracing over your lips, repeating what I said.  First come, first serve; you can't be beat. Just, listen to my voice, follow my lead. See, you don’t need to see men, to succeed, you got me.So. take your time, no rush. Relax, match your breathing with mine. slow, down, take your time.Touch your fingertip, to your little tip, and grind- press down harder, yeah, that is it.. Pause, fast, forward, left, right; rewind.  Now, do all if that, one more time. But first, lick your fingertip, so your *******, rise and shine, glitterish. Your index, just slide, inside you appendix, cause I penned it; very specific.  Here's another  tip; curl your fingers, like a tongue would flick your upper lip - the thought alone should make you flip. Now your *******, soaking wet, that's my favorite. Just use your imagination; then go for it! Your heart will skip. Pace yourself, you can't cheat.  Sped up your hearts rate, to your beat. You might have left a note to yourself, but I’m the one that wrote it all over your sheets!
Rotating bodies, confusion of sound
Negative imagery holding us down
Social delusion, clearly constructed
Human condition, morals corrupted
Trapped in reaction, lawlessness, war
Dissatisfaction from bowels to core
Devils technology, strategy for
Human mythologies, urban folklore
Sick of psychology, counterfeit cure
Wicked theology robbing the poor
Scheme demonology mislead the pure
Strict and strategically, studying war
Light shown in darkness, image exposed
Few can see through the new emperor's clothes
Lustful this hussle turns humans to hoes
When the blind lead the blind
Just more trouble and woes
It's the mind that they chose
It's designed to stay closed
Standards of jokers, court just a logic
Sick looking cosmics, from schoolyards to college
Primitive man with civilised knowledge
System collapse and he still won't acknowledge
God is the saviour, studies behaviour
Trying to fix the mind that he gave ya
Stiff-necked scholars on prescription meds
Wishing their problems were all in their heads
Moral dilemma, pride is the root
Misguided from youth, heart divided from truth
Egyptians and Grecians, spiritually dead
Imperially led, by the gods in their head
Motives and thoughts
Industrial wealth
Global economy, in for itself
Heart full of madness, covered with kind
Pleasure designed to take over your mind
Furnished in godliness, painted in good
This talented priesthood got real saints misunderstood
While classes in government, set up the veil
And cultivate minds for more mythical tales
Typical Hollywood follies good girl
While vice and corruption take over the world
Motives and thoughts
Check your motives and thoughts
Blind with the wickedness deep in your heart
Modern day wickedness is all you've been taught
Lied to your neighbours, so you get ahead
Modern day trickery is all you've been fed
Motives and thoughts
Check your motives and thoughts
The blurred lines in my mind
have my thoughts playing on rewind,
like an old school mixtape
it took me forever to find
and all the songs play on shuffle,
each one a memory from a different day,
remembering the hussle
and all the things I couldn't say,
but I got every little part
of every tune
memorized to heart
and when I play them on repeat
from the start
I get lost in the tracks, fumbling,
checking out this road map
with no streets,
just valleys and hills
and when the beat gets faster,
I can feel the thrill
Aaron LaLux Apr 2019
Another prophet who got his top knocked off,
this system’s toxic thought we’d found hope but lost it,
Nipsey Hussle shot down outside his clothing store Marathon,
live and die in LA grow up only to get shot down on Slauson in Compton,

and the irony is that he was taken out,
in the same neighborhood he had invested in,
from Proud2Pay to AfroTech Nip was a Community Activist,
in a system of force fed poisons he was medicine,

and maybe that’s why he was martyred,
just like MLK Tupac and Marley,
this is all real life in living color,
life’s not a Game but this is The Documentary,

every word true,

I mean do you,
think it’s just a coincidence,
that Nip was murdered when,
it was announced he was about to come out with a film,

about Dr. Sebi,
the herbalist,
who was also possibly murdered when,
he went public with claims of curing AIDS and other illnesses,

nothing random about this act of violence,
it makes so much sense when you think about it,
nothing senseless in the message,
I mean seriously think about it,

MLK shot on 4/4 at 39,
NIP shot on 3/31 at age 33,
why do the most violent things happen,
to the brothers that preach the most peace,

it all makes sense everything adds up,
but most will probably dismiss this just as another conspiracy,
I mean I guess it doesn’t matter ‘cause nothing will bring Cuz back,
RIP NIP Rest in Peace Nipsey another brother gone to young at 33,

and it’s all so eery it’s creepy,
all the above evidence plus,
“Having enemies is a blessing.”,
was his last tweet,

as the words of his last sound sit in my ears as they ring,

“**** I wish my n!gga Fats was here,
how’d you die at 30 somethin’ after bangin’ all them years,
Grammy nominated in the sauna shedding tears,
all this money power fame and I can’t make you reappear.”…

RIP NIP

∆ LaLux ∆

LA 2019
Mark  Mar 2020
Dav E Crockett
Mark Mar 2020
Bang, bang, bang, baaannggg
I dreamed I was dying and goin’ to hiphop heaven
Wow, what a dope sight it was to have seen.

Last night I was shot and arrived at hiphop heaven.
And you know who met me at the big bling gates?
The original kings of da hood themselves, Run DMC.
They said to me, they said, “Bro, the Big Dude of the
hood up here, has told us to show you around the crib.
So come with us.
Now standing on da corner is some of your favourite homies.

“**** I was glad to see them, The Notorious B.I.G. and the maestro of rap Tupac Shakur.

I dreamed I was dead in hiphop heaven
Wow, what a dope sight it was to have seen.

They introduced me to Snoop Dog, and they showed me the Ghetto of Fame with all the gold chains and number one hits up upon da wall.
Then they said, “Bro, walk this way, there are a few more hiphop stars, that I know you’re dying to meet, they’re hangin’ for you.
“There they were chillin’ by the curbside and staring down at me - Eminem and AKA MCA.

Bang, bang, bang, baaannggg

I met all my heroes right from the get go
**** what a privilege to have finally met
Then I asked them, who else do you think will join y’all, uh, say twenty five years from now?

They handed me a book of sheet music covered with graffiti.
They named it the Hood 4 Life Book.
In it, were many names and some were already highlighted in black texta.
I began to scan the pages and saw names such as, Dolla,
Pop Smoke, Juice WRLD, Nipsey Hussle, Easy-E, Lisa Lopes, Nate Dogg, Lil Peep, Jam Master Jay, J Dilla, Proof, Soulja Slim, Big Hawk, Prodigy, Camoflauge, Natina Reed, Charizma, Bloodshed, Big Bank Hank and  Dav E Crockett.

***???
Dav E Crockett?
Oh, well, that's when I woke up, and I'm sorry I did, because

I always dream I’d end up in hiphop heaven
Wow, what a dope sight it would be, y’all be knowin’ what I mean?
ioan pearce Mar 2010
wise old owl awoke one day
and studied human habits
blinkered, busy, bussling,
stressed out racing rabbits

ever chasing,always racing
never gaining, life of straining
predictable futures, and the source
who's the wiser? cart or horse?

he gazed at our system
thought whats the point....
of hussle and bussle
then rolled up a joint
Hannah  Mar 2017
Mojave Desert
Hannah Mar 2017
I gaze across the dry desert land.
It goes for miles,
nothing,
but long stretches of valleys,
tucked between mountain walls.
It's like being hidden in a dust bowl.
It's so hot,
and the traffic of cars
kicks up the desert dust,
clouding everything in sight,
but it is a place of refuge
for those seeking
a spiritual revelation.
I certainly understand
why these lands are sacred
to the Native Americans,
and to the indigenous
people of Mexico.
I have only spent
a few days here,
but I already feel more at peace,
free from the hussle,
and shackles of our society.  
I have been contemplating
my place in this world,
beneath the heat of the sun,
with the sand between my toes.
I can't help that my mind wanders.
I wonder who walked
these lands thousands of years ago,
that I am now trespassing on
with my pitched up tent,
and campfire.
What was there purpose?
Were they simply settled here,
or were they just walking
in search of something more?
Possibly for a rite of passage?
Traveling across the desert,
to commune with their
Gods and Goddesses.
These are the questions
that float through my mind,
as I meditate in the dry desert.
I wonder if these
thoughts are my own,
or if the spirits of the past
have placed them in my mind,
to rekindle the magic
that used to fill these lands.
A place now,
where the wonder of the desert
has become a mirage.
A place of beauty,
but barren of magic
to those who live with eyes closed.
~ I still see the magic.
Dougie Simps May 2016
Ugh
I could sit here and write to you for 12 more months
I could sharpen your image or speak to you just a lil more blunt
Oh you still in a funk?
But the music is off?
Post a picture with ya real intentions & captioned it "another loss"
Cause that's what you get when you lie to yaself
Eyeliner following a similar path, prideful lipgloss to stubborn to ask for help
But she'll ask for wealth
And say she was mistreated
Saying all men are the same and they intentions misleading...
Yeah?
Cause with me you were well treated, appreciated, serenaded and so perfect
Give it time and you'll start to see who's worth and who's worthless
****
My bad I lost my methods of being a gentleman
Swear mama would **** me
Don't take my emotional bars as a way to say you know the real me
Cause the real me is with those I was with back when I could get a quarter
The ones who would sell a few nickels and sip liquor like water
I feel like people always testing my progression
Tell me I'm doing well but still await my regression
X the only one who know how I deal with the pressure
Take my kindness for weakness and ya will feel my aggression
Haven't felt this fruitful since pac was here spitting lessons
"Only God can judge me" and slowly awaiting his blessings.
I remember being part of it all
I remember when I sat there hoping daddy would call
I remember seeing all my old friends start to randomly fall off
I remember walking with my headphones on and feeling so lost
Butter knife thoughts that could cut the cord
Are these malnourished feelings worth nurturing anymore?
If you had a million, tell me what could you afford?
Throw a couple singles to a broken woman just fix ya mood when ya bored
Think about
Where have you been?
Money don't buy happiness but I'll take the down payment
Building up my ego with Lincoln,
Grant and Franklin.
Talking that **** but still keep the mind so humble
Life is a marathon you bound to slip up and stumble
It's the recovery can you pick back up?
Just know when you give your all it may never be enough.
There is a difference between us and it's starting to show
Ive see you change outta no where and lose sight of the flow
You used to tell the real, the best stories and keep it a buck
No a days it's a whole lot of talking and you not giving a ****
But who am I to judge
I'll probably lost sight of the vision
Selective views from the top
On a success tunnel vision
Talk a lot but know none of it's safe
I got a few spots in this track that could quickly put you in your place
Mixed reviews like the boy drake
Tell me they want the crown but have no idea what it takes
This confused generation with they heads stuck in the wrong
You only know how to put in the work when all else goes wrong

"Now it's hussle time"

But imma close this out with shots no chaser
Every woman who's givin up Imma shout you out quick and thank ya
To those who couldn't stay in the car when I told you this was a long ride
Ya the same that'll come out when you see me in time
Motivation from some of the fam but I'll leave that for thought
Just know I'm thinking in way that's so far gone and my mind is meant to be lost.
Skilled with this pen the ink represents my direction
Left the past, started doing right, fell behind but never stopped moving forward...
Cause...
This here my direct message.

- gone
I'm back!
Marty Funkhouser  Jan 2010
Nature
Marty Funkhouser Jan 2010
Nature gives less a
**** plus
Natures got the nuts
and doesnt care to lust
while you hussle and fuss.
Mark McIntosh Mar 2015
the soothing scent of mowing lawn
back strain from lifting & hauling
concrete stepping blocks
storing another direction.

wakeful night of dreams crowding
saying things I forget.
labour betrays the promise of a tired body
assisting sleep

fifteen milligrams paid in full
moisture in a drought
the rain holds off a little longer
despite various warnings

ringing something sounding unlike bells
white noise turns the colour of alarm
it's all alright
the mantra some magic
the mantra some magic

chopping rocks
it only takes that
chain gang number not behind bars
blackbirds squawk amongst seeds of grass

gathered symbols or innocent bystanders
white friends fly
proud with the span of their wings
catching the flow.

trip on a stone
the smallest pebble snagging a shoe
lace caught beneath
hesitant step.

hussle to train with luggage heaving
straining the zip, can never hold back
a time to be quiet &
rearrange words

the lessons we hear tuning into
the night
wheels roll back home
some more washing up
Kabelo Maverick Oct 2013
Work, money, Love and my Life...
****, honey, love and my wife?

...And players will tussle and strive lust,
while prayers hussle to arrive with us...

K.Penmanship

— The End —