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JAM Jun 2020
for Lori, Riley and Kendrick

the questioning words jump off the page,
into two hands transforming,
words shape shifting into
multicolored ink stained fingers,
now, all a chokehold on my brain,
my throaty gasps rasping from
a simplistic convolution -
single questioning deserving an answer

what are you made of?

the obvious answers left in the slow lane,
bone, tissue, rivers and arteries of blue bloods,
just oil and fuel of a containership,
but the cargo carried, that’s the real stuff

you have insight inside that cannot be seen,
self-survival instincts that morph into morals,
our shared air affects you differently,
a sense of defending, caring,
costless  and costliest simultaneously,
spaghetti strands strong sinewed intertwining,
into a better human than most

to call you hero is wrongly insufficient,
but the thesaurus lends me no substitute,
weep, I do,
as the spring and summer blushing green
will not be seen by you at all, and by me,
seen now so differently,
when thinking of
soil-born courage instinctual that has no name,
but grows only in nature

what are you made of?

we know now, but knew not well,
that thing that makes you leap first,
was all you, the entirety of the best,
that exists, existed, as reminders to us,
to mine it, wear it,
medal it upon our fabric

you three,
breathe it back, exhale it from where ever you are,
that trace chemical odor in our atmosphere,
of life-giving sweetness, a rebirthing chlorophyll freedom
that we humans all desperately need,
even just to know it exists,
and inform us

what we need to be made of
“As shots fired inside a synagogue outside San Diego last month, Lori Gilbert-Kaye, 60, put herself in between the shooter and the rabbi and died as a result.
Riley Howell, 21, charged a gunman who burst last week into a University of North Carolina-Charlotte lecture room carrying a pistol. He too lost his life to save others.
And Tuesday inside a STEM school in Denver, Kendrick Castillo, 18, lunged at a fellow student who had pulled a gun in class, giving his classmates time to take cover. He was the lone student killed in the attack.”
Khalif Mar 2017
Remember Wesley’s Theory. Remember they haven’t taught you everything.
And no one actually gives anything For Free. Don’t take it and expect to give nothing back.
They will beat it out of you. Spit back King Kunta even though you’ll feel nothing like royalty.
Google Institutionalized. The first example reads, The danger of discrimination becoming


Maybe they didn’t want to flat out say racism?
And instead pretend like u won’t try to climb over These Walls.
You in Trumps America now boy, everything ain’t just gonna be Alright.
You might wake up tomorrow, sign chained to your ankles, “For Sale”.

Momma never warned you. At least you don’t remember, you haven’t talked lately.
You never understood Hood Politics, found yourself on the wrong block
Too much change in your pocket tryna to figure out How Much a Dollar Cost
But the Complexion of your currency ain’t quite correct cuz

That’s when you realize The Blacker the Berry, the less like you.
You Ain’t Gotta Lie, you like where you are now.
Starting to think i belong and ****.
But remember, even though you know how to **** a Butterfly, you’re just a Mortal Man.
Italics are songs from "To **** a Butterfly"
She counts down from a hundred to one,
Clutching her love like a crutch.
He fumbles,
Hunting for his hunger.
They blot out doubt
And muster up their trust

"I'm fine" she cries,
As a child dies.
He learns,
He spits in her gritted eyes.
She reminds him that they're dying,
Burning while they turn
Spinning in his sheets
Struggling to breathe
Smuggling their dreams
In apologetic sweat
And ***** epithets

The infant actors beg for ******
Whispering the wishes that are listed in the script
Quoting moans that catch on choking throats
Pleading for release
Reading of futility
And mutual defeat
Delivering a finish
In pillowed soliloquys

Adolescent in the stillness
Adolescent in the heat
Adolescent in the promise
Adolescent in belief

She stutters love in ****** butterflies
On his rasping chest
As he gasps for breath.
She grasps at death,
While he grabs a cigarette.

Cast away in brackish blanket seas
They wrap themselves in fallacies
And laugh at their realities:
The cult of love belongs to Morpheus
And adulthood is an orphanage
Inspired by "Sing About Me, I'm Dying of Thirst" by Kendrick Lamar
Kenna Mar 2016
Words were for whispering small
truths or swollen somethings
with the power of rocks, resting
on sifted oceans--back and forth
in the rocking chair.

Mama's song rings
cracking. Almost
the surface. Barely
a scratch. Lightly
on the record. Hitting repeat.

just short
of an earthy gesture. A smokey
word and a hallowed cave. Lethargy
drifting in waves.
listening to Kendrick's Blue Faces
Ana Jan 2016
"How many sins? I'm running out
How many sins? I lost count"
Poetictunes Dec 2015
These walls can talk
They tell me your'e insecure.
These walls can talk they tell me your'e not sure.
You was abused and misused.
Utterly confused, you refuse to be reused.
Pain afflicted,
Mind conflicted.
My brain was consumed by depression and the pressure of impressions.
You keep all the pain bottled inside, you need to express your expressions.
The lessons we learn are the tests we fail,
I can tell you tired and weak.
If These walls could speak,
They'd tell me all of your secrets and lies.
I can feel your pain kept inside.
Gold lives inside of you.
You was suicidal, your mind was the devil's bridal.
Face down at my feet, but im still undefeated.
I needed my space but somehow you got deleted.
These walls are colored,
But I'm surrounded by white walls that try to keep me closed in.
I talk to God like I was Moses friend.
I feel the walls closing in.
Walls can talk.
Walls howtopimpabutterfly kendrick lamar
M Clement Sep 2015
Run the ******' Jewels, friend.

I try to write to the beat,
but **** it, I'll just strip instead.

I work in sales; I work in industry.
****, the things I say are all lies,
so what's the point of even writing them?

Because I can't write good truth for the life of me.
I can speak it though.

Catch me in court, cuz I'm trying to be hard.
It's all *******. It's just a parking ticket.

We're obsessed with hard *******, and chill *** ******.
It's true, and we're all in danger.

Who else grew up in the suburbs but is trying to go hard as they can?
Masculinity means cars, cash, *******, and ***.
If you ain't getting *****, you just a *****.

Thanks Drake, for teaching us what's important.
Kendrick speaks to 'Pac, I wonder if he used ouija board.
It's the weird line between demonic and technology.

I'm just writing off the dome,
I wonder how different this would be if I were sitting at the seafoam.

Let's praise our idols; not praise our God.
Let's ****, ****, lick, blow.
We all know there is no next show...

So what the **** are you living for?
Surprise! I'm ******* Catholic!

This is more just a speaking of ironies in life as a whole, I guess. Hit me up if you have questions.
M Clement Sep 2015
A bitter ****-fest of lollapalooza.
Burn(ing) me, man. but don't taze me, bro.

If I got high on legalized substances, am I still escaping?
Metaphoric endorphin rushing as patio furniture sits silently,
slowly choking as I fill it with my own ***.

I haven't written in so long, because I lack some passion.
I haven't written verbal joust in the form of bitter tongue because I felt it lacked restraint.

I ****** with a straight jacket; it felt great.
Perpetual virginity, a fool's errand running.
I have my V-card still; kind of... it's stunning.

I left a can of gasoline at an alien's house.
I came back and fire had engulfed what was left of my sorrows.

"I thirst," said He, the savior of the world.
Let's all ignore the singing signs of everything, boys... girls...

I have not a word to say in recompense for exploitation of your idiotic murmurings.
Well done, my good and faithful burdenings.

I can't speak to what hasn't yet been said,
but I can sure as hell guestimate, that we'd probably all be dead.

This **** ain't free.
Thank you, Kendrick Lamar, for reminding me.

This is me unfettered.
This is me unchained.
Give me a pen and some paper:
this **** will get strange.

I am Fred Astaire with a **** so fine, you'd think it's aged wine the way it twirls and floats.

Breaking up is ******, now put this poem down your throat.
I just went with whatever came to my mind with each line. I hope it was enjoyable.
Jazmine Moore May 2014
Your wicked love seems to be the only thing that revives me everytime.
I run away countless times just to wake up in your arms
& your kisses are the poison that continues to run through my bloodstream and
One day, I'll wake up to you and you'll be mine forever
& when sun rises on that morning,
I'll cry a sea of tears that have been trapped inside of me all of these years
And we will make love like fire and there won't be any amount of rain to put us out
We'll travel to Asia and to outer space and we will stay up all night and listen to the ocean..
And frankly, I wouldn't have it any other way because, baby, you're my drunk call at 4am, you're my 143..
You're mine.
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