haven't wrote a poem in a while.
it's because a few
night ago... I cried so
hard
my throat sung those old
slave songs cause lately
I guess i've been a slave to perfection,
a slave to the image, unable
to smile if not requested, unable to escape.
tried to listen to those revolutionaries on twitter
like fredrick douglas and such.
only made me fear the freedom
that might not ever be.

If I could repeat a
                 moment,
it would be the victory sign
                              I gave you.

The sign of ******* used in
                           singular usage.
those of an educated and memorable
                                      use of wordage.

One meaning I'm free of the shackles,
                   and that I'm no longer
beneath you.


Instead it meant in an aspect of freedom,
         but then I got real turning it
                                                     on its head.


And to others that saw it meant what it said,

                          *******....


I'm no longer yours, I'm free of you...
                     and my life is mine  from this day...

Mine to live,
no longer shacked
                      by others
                      weak bonds that I'm  free of.

Master has a new slave.
For years I've went from one diamond to another with no penny for my services.
Dug holes and buried daffodils,
Dug holes and buried daffodils.
Carried by the spirit that shall give life to my children,
Children to children's children.
I've worked the way of a slave and never let my master carry a *****.
'though time told too many stories of the previous slaves,
I hoped mine was that of the history pages.
The blood drips on my cold knees as I crawl the dark for a meal,
She usually brings me something nice,
Oh master what are we having tonight?

The master's table should be kept clean at all times,
We don't want master eating dirt, alright?
Master is late for her food tonight,
It must be a busy night.
She usually utters of her unwell businesses, I believe she is tired.
I feel the chains on my feet being loose,
Master won't like this one bit.
The trees tell tales of the old berries,
And those that bury often get buried by no one.
Master smiles and tells me to run as she holds a gun counting to ten.
I'd run a bit more faster but my feet are swollen and needs healing.
As the trees come closer, darkness comes to sight and master smiles as she sends the new slave to bury my corpse.

Nothing changes no matter how you try. Change your perspective... see it from another view they say. They must not know in the world I'm a slave to stay. Nothing changes, nothing gets better, just let me die one day soon, and when I try to see it out but it didn't go as planned and I'm still barely alive, do me a favour and walk on by so that death may shortly take me away. Thank you.

Speak my peace-
Euros, pesos, and money lust.
Chambered living,
Hustling to get out the crust,
Frustrated in time.
Golden coins wait for no one.
We seek above our pay grade,
With our Diploma’s in check but,
the amount of schooling
does not reflect the time spent
in a broken living.
Restricted by the cards laid on our deck,
Born rich, live rich-
But how many of us rise above poverty?
There is a system to this.
Chasing a dream to catch,
Suppressed by the gold and silver.
Working all the time-
When do we live?
Like the job we have
Is the place where we were born,
Calling it our home.
Money manipulating our minds
Making us lose ourselves.
Paper green consistency,
Measured by the piece.
Speaking my peace-
Who to trust when money’s spent?
Greed for green cause consistent evil
within societies.
Fortune equals fraud.
We hustle hard for an assimilated living.
Money makes us make moves.
I hold no doubts,
That through the pyramid structure of economic range,
I will cruise,
I will elevate,
Because I, see I
Will break my chains.
We have one life to live,
One life to be in the presence.
So bread will not make me a brawler,
I will not be enslaved by a dollar.