If I had to explain it I'd say my world of words prefers to rhyme.
It likes to speed up, until you catch up,
and then take up your time.
It likes to play games and roll around in the grass like a child;
use its imagination to keep things fresh, tasty, and wild.
My words like to cuss and be rude,
spend days lying on the couch
drunk, shameless, and ****.
They dispise being alphabetized and disrespect being ordered around;
like a high school kid being sensitized,
and in so doing being ostracized,
being pushed out forcefully by the system.
My words have rules and they love to resist them.
Often turning into words of insistence and criticism,
my words should be locked up,
but they're usually dressed up
in something they're not,
put in a strait jacket and forgotten in a prison because they've been caught.
People think I need to watch what I say but I'd rather not.
I want my words to stay in your head for days till they're the only thoughts
you've got.

What does black history month mean to me,

Slavery and freedom,

A race fighting for equality,

The rusted chains and blood stained whips,

Over 400 years of this abominable cycle,

Love thy neighbor the words silenced in the bible,

I have a dream,

The dream that came true,

But only through the spilt blood of the innocent,

Their families left singing the blues,

Black history month is a month of the forgotten truth,

How one man's greed became a nation's nightmare,

And how we as humans must dream of freedom and equality too.

He gave me an entire solar system
when all I asked for was a star.

All he gave me was a star
when I needed an entire solar system.

It's early morning
And the maid hasn't even arrived yet
Your morning breath
And my tired eyes staring back
At your final seconds of sleep
We get up, speechlessly
I start to make my morning tea
And you pour sugar in it for me
It tastes like the colour of your skin
I don't even shiver anymore
You're the heat inside my lungs
And the golden tones of my rising suns
The touch of your voice in my ears
Makes me feel like I'm melting fears
And I have never felt so safe
By looking into one's eyes and say:
"You're my entire solar system"

When you’ve asked yourself, “what the hell am I doing with my life?”
Five times before you’ve even had your morning coffee
Which isn’t enough, so you grab a second coffee
Because you stayed up until sunrise writing a lab report on the psychological effects of coffee
They call that an education.

When you stare at screens and sheets of paper
Until Shakespeare’s sonnets and Sir John A. Macdonald
Are scratched into the blackboard on the inside of your brain
Only to have the slate wiped clean
The second your Scantron card spells “success” in Braille,
They call that an education.

When you’re swimming in, shall we call it, the Academian Sea
And tentacles reach out and start to pull you under one by one
And the lifeguards on the shore simply tell you to swim harder,
They call that an education.

I remember walking onto campus feeling so inspired
Ready to be re-wired
Until they said my arts degree would never get me hired
Now the time keeps passing by and I always feel so tired
And for what reason?
I’ve read countless books on history and Hamlet and how to speak Italian yet it seems as though the most I’ve learned is all the different ways I can doubt myself
I am creative, I am well-read, I am kind, I am caring, but I am a history major
And in a place where 3.0s and 4.0s and future capital value is practically etched into our skin for the world to read like a bad tattoo
Apparently that means I’m not going anywhere.
There are so many days when I want my tattoo removed
So people will stop staring at the decimal points and prerequisites that distract from the rest of me and look me in the eyes for a change and see in my smile that this is who I really am

But instead I’ll probably stay up late again
Learn names and dates again
Forget them after the test again

Because when you stare at that sheet of paper if you’re dedicated (or crazy) enough to make it that far
And you cover up your tattoo with your graduation gown only for them to draw your degree wherever enough skin shows to prove to the world that they’ve churned out another one
They call that an education.

Generation Information:
Running 'round, drugs in cases
Even if ya hate ya placement
Time moves faster with some patience
Seniles claim *conspiracy;
Wonder what kinda bombs we makin'
FOURTEEN MILLION DIVORCED PARENTS
Raising kids who feel forsaken
Walking round with Glocks, hoping they don't get blammed next,
No Christmas anymore;
Santa Claus is hooked on *Xanax
And once you get outta Hell
Get framed and put in jail
Its hard to crawl from the bottom back up to the place you fell
We say we work in retail
But shoes ain't what we sell,
So please cover your ears
Don't listen to what we tell.
Children taught to be pitiless
**** anybody with viciousness
Shot too high
Expecting adults
And that's where the militias went
Murdered by a lonely kid who got no Love
Trained to pull a weapon if push comes to shove
Look up in the sky
They made Ravens outta doves
*Sinned so much, afraid to ask forgiveness from above