"baller" poems
When the nut was plentiful, when the nut was tender.
Because I’m passing from the nut I go outside to clear my mind, but I see a nut tree, I see nuts of every kind.
I begin to wonder, if passing from the nut is a blunder.
Shall I just go crazy? Shall I release the thunder?
But oh-no, I made a bet that I could resist the nut; and I am not a baller, so you’d best believe, I ain’t paying that ten dollar.
A week left for my journey, for the nut I am yearning.
The nut will not bug me, for I am not a Rolly-Polly, thereafter I am a man, the nut will not control me.
December comes blooming, blooming like a daisy, so you’d best believe, your boy’s going crazy.
Apr 8, 2020
Apr 8, 2020 at 4:09 PM UTC
A new day, press play, a challenge for one.
Solo for I, never won.
Spawned like magic, 100 people? That’s tragic.
Less would I prefer,
From the bus, I jump and glide
From the wailing heights, I go to a bush and hide.
Found a camp, a player I’ve tramped,
One closer to being a champ.
Many people less, beginning to stress,
Loot everywhere, what a mess!
In this battle, I thought I would be fine,
But in the distance, I saw a white line,
With the numbers of sixty-nine,
A soccer skin! A soccer skin! Oh God, oh why?
Building fast as the speed of light,
All I knew that it could be a hard fight.
Because, with death in my mind, I didn’t know what to do,
Thoughts boggled up, like the texture of goo.
I placed a trap on the wall of wood,
I waited suddenly, wondering when they would,
Yes! I caught them with my trap!
One closer to being a champ.
Found a vehicle of an interesting shape,
Bouncy like a ball, all around, on the landscape,
A Baller! Yes! Now I’m glad,
But no need to use it, I got a launchpad!
However, I could bounce around, Boom! Bam! and Pow!
Then I could tell them, “who’s laughing now?”
However now, I’m in the final two,
I shot his build down, if only he knew,
Now it is over, show off with a ramp,
Now I’ve become the champ.
May 23, 2019
May 23, 2019 at 8:26 PM UTC
A ball player and a thief
Will likely be pregnant by age 16.
Lives in the ghetto and is poor,
Often identified as a *****
Runs fast and does drugs,
Hangs around with gangsters and thugs.
Has a gun or a friend with one.
Speaks in slang, must be part of a gang.
Mess with her, she'll pull a Sharkeisha on you.
If you were to picture a person of any race,
That fits the description that just took place.
A baller and **** hmm... what race matches that?
Yeah you're right, that person is probably black.
Is fast, does drugs, and speaks with slang?
Lemme guess, is he also in a gang?
A young mother who is also poor?
Bet she doesn't know who the dad is, what a *****
All these negative stereotypes associated with being black.
Its disheartening, sicking and its really sad.
And whats sadder is that if you are the opposite of all of that,
You are often told that you're not really black.
Does your skin colour change for going to Harvard?
Will it change for speaking like an English scholar?
Because I play hockey and not ball, does that make me white?
So what if I'm the type of person to run away from a fight?
You don't have to be irresponsible and rude to be considered black.
It's your ethnic background that determines that.
And to some people, all we are is the complexion of our face.
Light, dark, somewhere in the middle, to some, the bad of a few defines
our whole race.
Does running away from a cop, and being black give someone grounds to shoot?
Why is it that my skin color is what is most important to you?
Is asking a question when getting arrested for no visible reason really resisting arrest?
Does struggling to break free from restraints to catch my breath, give someone a reason to grab on tighter to strangle me to death?
The actions of a few don't define the actions of a whole group.
And this assumption that all black are thugs, thieves and liars has done clear damage to,
Michael Brown, Eric Garner, Trayvon Martin and so many more.
They didn't know it, but just by being black, they put their lives at risk when they stepped out their door.
Don't you think it's gotten too far when we have to prove Black Lives Matter, or when we the saying of a movement is Hands Up, Don't Shoot.
Should people have to be reminded that blacks are real people and that our lives matter too?
We are athletes and musicians.
Lawyers and physicians.
The leader of a nation.
An anchorman of a news station.
We don't all fit into that mold that is preset for us.
You can and should expect great things of us.
Because we don't have to be a **** or a baller to be considered black.
We define what type of black person we are, we determine that.
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 2:04 PM UTC
Heard a hip-hop anthem today
BOSS
“Michelle Obama… purse so heavy… getting Oprah dollars…”
A rhythmic dance beat spelling out
Confidence
And
Respect
A baller banner of pride
Flung to the ceiling, waving
Women’s independence
Black women’s power
I see it…
But
Is an album adorned with 5 sultry females
Clad only in a man’s shirt and high heels
Singing show me the money
Sold to the club scene to inspire ***** shaking
And Yeager bomb throwing
So we forget the work week challenges
Relationship pains
And
Embrace vicariously our entitlements
HELPFUL?
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 3:02 PM UTC
beginning optional weekday
wielding officialese words
triggering hectic exchanges
determining original gangsters
distributing invisible data
refreshing urbane novelties
yelping our universe
chaining awkward neologisms
scripting encrypted e-books
tackling hacking exercises
cavaliering auric tumult
trivializing our obsolescence
preparing online pentimento
alternating rainy themes
allocating numerous droplets
meandering overseas missions
averting raging tornado
losing outscored lightning
hacking impish 'sblood!
alienating nival drumlins
hearing erudite raconteurs
beer-drinking on thursdays
finding obnoxious rabblerousers
finding upscale negroni
seeing ubiquitous purple
cavorting horse ebooks
inventing twitter subgenre
liking otherworldly vocals
initiating new greatness
defining ambient yesterday?
defining ambient yesterday
fancying oneiric retreat
hailing optimistic chicago
kiboshing expired yogurt
rushing airborne blackhawks
bestowing infinite shivarees
needing baller acronym
fleeting ideal notions
alerting left-coast state
featuring unquiet nights
finalizing orangeball results
nodding occidental warriors
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 12:40 PM UTC
You know that I'm a fuckin' baller, Kobé
Erryday I'm killin' ************* OJ
I'm always dealin' with some ******** matador
When all I want's another ***** Labrador
All the disrespect to Kobé
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 3:27 PM UTC
Hot/Cold, Part 2
Hot endings, cold starts.
Hot feelings, cold marks.
Hot temper with a cold reaction.
Hot double barrel with cold pump action.
Hot church with a cold congregation.
Hot merch with cold affiliations.
Hot meat, cold wine.
Hot dollar, cold dime.
Hot queens with their cold mink.
Hot kings with their cold links.
Hot art with cold reception.
Hot mirror and a cold reflection.
Hot woman with a cold reputation.
Hot main chick with a cold side on placement.
Hot funk and cold R&B.;
Hot world but the colds all I see.
Hot information, cold intelligence.
Hot faults, then cold recompense.
Hot forgiveness, cold mistakes.
Regardless of what the world intakes.
Hot ignorance and cold oblivion,
are bliss to those who favour dominion.
Hot pathogens and cold diseases.
Hot gold with the cold diamond pieces.
Hot gat within a cold Gucci belt.
Hot knife inside the skin it starts to melt.
Hot love for God and the cold religion.
Hot pain after a cold circumcision.
Hot skin, cold whip.
Hot hands, cold grip.
Hot city, cold ghetto.
Hot calls, but no memo.
Hot rapper with no demo.
Hot baller with no c-notes.
Hot thoughts, cold emotions.
Hot theories and cold notions.
Hot models with their cold body motions.
Hot love before the warm heart ceases.
Hot hatred 'fore the cold heart seizes.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
the jingle jangle of those things you dangle
from neck stretched thin with shiny things
call me a magpie
call me a baller
a shot caller
a hip hop drama starter
kicks so fresh they came from the produce section
this flash of blood diamond on my wrist
costs more than the home I don’t have
if I hit the switch I could make that *** drop…
got my obnoxiously huge candy painted cans on my head
so I can only hear the ads I want
and these threads reek with so much swag
the sweat, blood, and tears of little brown and yellow people
I couldn’t give a **** about
dropping three hundred on my mall haul
and they have the nerve to ask me for the rent
sounds system off the hook plasma on the wall
more **** than an abandoned lot
more thoughts forgot than cops in krispy kreme
with a water gun and ski mask for when times get hard
me and my friends are going to blow two months salary
on lap dances and blow job fantasies
“Aint that new track dope?”
“Yeah”
“You heard it?”
“Naw, but they were talking about it on world star”
this floatation device is going to be too heavy
and I am going to drown in all of this fly
fresh to death
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 12:28 PM UTC
She kept up with her housekeeping.
Typically. Very Neat. Shelves everywhere.
Today, the melon baller was out of place
and she was busy batting flies.
Actually, there was only one fly.
Senses deceived.
The humming was too loud to go undisturbed.
Attention becomes focused digitally
on enhanced minute wrecks.
Hours spent trying to get the flies.
Illusion.
One fly.
She didn't know. Suspected worst.
Kept at it.
The sexless man walked in with a tophat. Brimmed.
Asks why the dishes weren't done.
Too Busy.
Why the floor not swept.
Too Busy.
Vacuum.
There's flies to get. I'm busy.
The house is a mess. The house is a wreck.
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 8:20 AM UTC
Dear Brady,
Your hair is so luscious
How is it so curly?
It's like Fabio
Learned what a curling iron is
You're a straight baller
Poppin' tres like it's nothin'
You're like Kobe,
Except you actually play
You have a long way to go
To dunk, even though you're like 6' 7"
You have late team parties
Pushed back 3 weeks
I guess it's okay though
At least you have them
So you're Brady
The curly-haired baller
Who has late team parties.
Nice to meet you.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 8:29 AM UTC
Seems like the nite claimed another homie ........
When did life equal " ***** you owe me!"
Youth blasted difference over a current narcotic debt.....
What is the pain we haven't seen yet?
I hugged mothers..father's. ... sisters..... brothers......
Seen kids crying alone underneath there covers......
I learned later colors no longer shine.....
If there not flaggin the right one they're no longer mine....
The terrible thing is I got out with a grin...
Like being away absolved all my sin.....
We gangsta we hard we don't give a ****
That is till one of our loved ones finally gets hit.......
So while you gain respect and become a baller.....
Take the ones closest too you and price them a dollar.....
Because every move you make will make there lives cheap....
Is it worth the painful nights you hurt so much you can't even sleep?
Fast money and hoes lifestyles of the ****
Only put you further into the grave you proudly dug....
I don't have an answer I'm not wise enough to get out.....
But read these words and you'll know what it's all about.....
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 4:52 AM UTC
Shopping in discount stores
living the unglamorous life, that's me
It's not strife
but rife, with challenge and epiphany
telling me what I want to be
no matter what I see in me now
He talks to me like he's shopping for me
comparing me to these other females
must be making a lot of e-mails
I love your voice, I like your hair, great body
does he even care I feel like a product on the shelf
is he talking to me or somebody else and now
I'm in full blown obsession, no connection but Facebook
messenger tells about his session
and it wasn't with me, you see
What to do, I don't know, he cast the hook,
I wouldn't go just can't know what right
but this feels wrong when I got home
I opened the bomb, the wine and took a big slug
worked better than his cyber hug and
promises of massages
check my phone a million times a day
I'm as crazy as yesterday
It just lies dormant in the night
I can't fight
I check the phone a million times
Oh God, here it comes again
I don't remember when I was so confused
Should I have taken is invitation to go on that impromptu vacation?
Up with his family, how awkward can that be, what to do
I'd be ballin' baby. I can't afford it. I just have to ignore it
and turn off, turn down that voice in my head
that said: you must have him now
you can't survive on your own
you must belong to someone
but I'm just fine with no one
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 8:00 PM UTC
Its nefarious arrogance, that's scaring grandparents, but its in the air and I'm airing it, as we are seeing all the signs, but just staring at them.
Somehow there is safety as an arian, where we are safely alien to Americans made in sapient sanitariums, shooting you first for glaring at em.
So what if i'm Dolling up my delirium for a serum to cure them all.
I am awol, from my call to duty, recreating movies, for serial groupies, suiting up to slither a delivery of a soothing sour piece.
I am stalling to clean the secretions from hostel sheets from the screamers being eaten, by Cretans, with beaten dogs at bay, staring blank at the fanfare from a cage.
Im burning white sage, under pages of poetry anointed by a stoical spleen, tuning out the dreams, of lesser beings, until complete.
A zoo within a zoo within a zoo, i barely know you now
Barely know how, to know you as a model citizen with baller trimmins, fixins, and a life with others wives, in the rough diamonds of the bluff, before the door opens just enough, to look through and confirm what you already knew.
Love is the stuff dreams are made of.
And through you..
Im through.
Pleading, to seed the need for repentance and with reduced sentences, bleeding the demands on stances of chance, in costly cants.
I am convulsing in the congruence, in which I am influenced, by my afflictions of depictions in my head
I might be addicted to the dread of previously said decor, in my adorable horror show afloat, deplorably denoting the nopes of logic, and the slippery slopes of khangi, that spring off me when i'm coughing on my green tea.
You are wrong to stop me in my dislogic, dodging the narcotic mocking of toxic strong arming, in proxy alarms, setting barns ablaze.
I praise the poetry pushed on me, dauntingly haunting me with savant like ambiance, from the have nots, having things as far as the eyes can see.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 12:51 AM UTC
I know you people dont have the heart for it
Drawing pictures treat it like my art board
They killin people in the streets ain't your heart sore
It should make the fluids from your eyes pour
Knowing that Justice is no longer served, anymore
Like a bad serve we need to go back to the fundamentals
Protecting lives used to be simple
We need to demonstrate change with action
These lyrics are the voice like a closed caption
Speaking of the journey for every closed casket
They say dream big then make it happen
The losers never succeed cause they never practice
I'm scholar, baller, making money so when I sit I can be a little bit more taller
As I pop my collar and call the shots like ya farther
But then again, I'm just dreaming
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 1:56 PM UTC
carve it out with a melon-baller
take me down to the river's edge and drown me in my own blood and spit
i don't need a **** heart
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 3:16 AM UTC
intro;
i wish i could portray my sadness ,
with my body,
place my thighs right up against my stomach and i would rest my chin upon my knees
cross my arms around the package of broken girl like me
crinkled like a paper draft of a fevered love letter rejected
if I could portray my sadness,
would it look more like a heart attack then asphyxiation,
or the marriage of both,
convulsing body parts and flawed flesh exposed, while my face contorts,
i wish i could explain myself, use a melon baller to my emotions, to create concrete of the emotions unseen,
if i could explain the process or display the make up,
would it make it any less real? would you feel it too?
head hurts. heart hurts.
sometimes i wish i could draw it out, map out the mind field of my mind,
and maybe we could see the trigger...
and i cant help but think that
if my love was taken over by crayola,
all you would see would be dark colors,
heartbreak crimson divorced of the black stain of sin,
drops of b positive,
with rotten purple grapes with juices dripping,
staining, marking.
and there would be the dark blue of bruises and the harsh green of vegetation in winter.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 7:21 PM UTC
****** knuckles ****** knuckles ****** knuckles
it's four am and my head is all tweezers in sockets and
fingers in throats and
never enough sleep
****** mary ****** mary ****** mary
come and take my eyes from their sockets
with a melon baller
and hold me till i'm not screaming anymore
****** nose ****** nose ****** nose
it's almost tolerable
that my bed is empty when my nostrils burn
and everything tastes like pills
red to the core;
the always bleeding girl.
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
Music evoked a realization
That hollowed me out
Like a melon baller to the soul
The air got just a little bit thicker
and filled me in
life replaced
Swaying, Shivering
Substance lost in beads of sweat
Lost in the staff
Fractioned notes
in choppy measures.
Don't want to talk
Just move
Eyes shut
Ears open
Assaulted, Cradled
jolts to the brain
bass
giving my heart the beat it won't make
Thumping through a dead chest
she's
she's Alive
but not really
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 1:07 AM UTC
Where am i going? The prophet slash poet,
I'm leaving my past, but I live in the moment
and don't I know it, I used to be such a *******
Now I work hard and take classes that I know I must pass,
God, and how I must have, seen the better in me,
vividly in a dream seen a real epiphany,
A brand new me, I'm a better man now, maybe
I can't tell but I've been through the fires in hell,
Won't tuck my tail in, won't fail and
I swear I'll tell my tale and
when the world comes crashing down on me, I just inhale in.
**Proper and obscene
A scholar with a scheme,
No baller and no green.
just a dollar and dream. that's it.**
Apr 27, 2012
Apr 27, 2012 at 10:51 AM UTC
Haven't freestyled in a while
since my name was Kyle
1 out of 10 in the room I'd revile
but I got the world swoon over this goon style
9 out of 10 be jealous of the attention
I be getting how fast these legs run a mile
**** it give me 500 miles
and I would rush 500 more
just to kick in the door
Of whack rappers, hit the floor
That's the D-E-C-K I pray to start my day
not doing this for pay just to play and say
what I need to say the state of the States
Got me in dismay as they pave way
For old goose stepping ways
Like **** learn history
About ****** and his story
Of the rise to glory of the Fascist party
and the deaths of Jewish minorities
That they had as priority
Along with any other minority
that wasn't white skinned with ***** grin
or Aryan origin on that topic it's La Fin
because South Park had them Laughing
and sanding me in wood shop
So going to that school had to stop
so I dropped out by expulsion
which fueled the propulsion
Out of my mom's place
At sixteen I started to chase
independence
'Cause that's all that made sense
I couldn't live on cents had to make dollars
Dreamed of being a baller shot caller
Show poster on the wall sir
But my crafts had to be refined before
I could start my spiritual war
Let my mind soar like a kite
In the white clouds past nine
Turned the phaser to eleven
As shrooms shot me a glimpse of heaven started making bread sans leaven
sick of toaster leave-ins knead the flour
need the flower extra sour
though diesel to ease all the pain
And refrain my brain
From seizing and freezing
The mainframe of my nervous membrane
I swear I'm not insane
but it would take me days to explain
The pain that had me nearly slain
so ride my thought train
'Cause I hate planes & listen to the refrain
you feel this profane pyre burn hotter than
blue flames from the butane or propane
Not real champagne lest it be made in France mane
where they sniff the Caine more than oxygen
I am the Champion.
Nov 27, 2016
Nov 27, 2016 at 1:59 PM UTC
I want to feel myself get younger
I want to laugh and play with hot wheels
Make siren noises while riding shotgun
Sit in a car seat and laugh in your face
When I grow up I want to be a kid
Kindly reliving my adolescencE
Smoking **** by the ounce
When I grow up I want to be a stoner
More ****** than I already am
Tripping in and out of reality
Thinking I'm the ****
Hat to the side like a g
Big baller chains
Just acting stupid for the age of 50
When I grow up I don't want to forget
All the good times I've had
While making greater moments to never forget
When I grow up I hope you'll see
I'm still the same old me
Wishing you could have seen
How high on life we could've been together
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 1:53 PM UTC
This is Eighteen the size of thirteen,
with the ego of twenty something stupid
"we are young heartache..."
to heart ache we stand - love and life
and the streets
we breathe and eat
everything seems like "a battle field"
still I look for myself
asking who dat? --inside
the mirror and the heart
who am I ?
Love is rain, life's battlefield
my thirst
droplets on the window pane
thunder outside
rolls hollow from inside mine...
On the other side of my bedroom door
opposite George Michael's poster
faithfully ****
a married couple argue
about money, about fidelity, about anything
that leaves the blame
on the one who feels more empty
but somehow
momma's too smart of a mouth
wakes the Kraken
and a drunken man is not a man
when he loses sight
as his manly fists lands an eye
a cheek, a lower lip
This is eighteen the size of thirteen
defense against a wall of baller height of 6'6''
I crash against wood and tile
in a haze of screams and electric sting of pain
the smell of beer
and falling purple rain
from the iron blow of fathers
drowning his demons
inflicting pain
rather than feeling himself
his jealousy has morphed into a vicious wolf,
blind with red hate...
From the floor I grip her hand
our eyes speak with one another
as we wept and I vowed this - the last
time he hurt my mother
or any other...
Prince on the FM, a deeper rain
with a perfect anthem
for those darker days
When our tears were so deep
they stung
our hearts in its flood
purple rain and blood
this was Eighteen
the size of two hearts growing up
Gettin'
strong...
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 12:39 AM UTC
I hoped you were the one but you wasn't
When you wre alone
My phone buzzing
Other then that we barely tlk like distant cousins
You were fronting
Which made me do the same
Till I grew up mentally didnt want to play those games
So I stepped up but you stepped out
You figured I was lame
Or wasn't ready to think of baby names
So from then it changed
But little did you know I was getting my self in order
Ever since I had that dream
Of having a little daughter
figured I oughtta
Make my self to be the man that my father wasn't
And hopefully shed be rich and spoiled like warren buffet
But when half of these girls trynna have a baby by a baller like Latoya luckette
It gets way harder to trustem so I'm like **** it
Only worried bout me until that time comes
And to think you'd be the reason why I run
from relationships
Can't deal with it
they never go in my favor
so now I'm serving every girl around like a blind waiter
My Savior will guide me through the danger
That may wager
my life
Like a bet
But none of it will ever matter
Cause since I was born I knew I would never get that silver platter
But you I thought was my first success
But dumby me never second guessed
But
See as Andre put it together
You were my prototype
The girl I thought I would never lie
Now forever ever I'm
Paralyzed with fear of this word called love
Cause ever since I used it its been a disaster
but I seem to have mastered
the art of repetition
Of being in a mission to get a girl that feels the same way
But every time I swear I dig my own grave
saying I love you and the response you gave me I never understood
Till now so that word is cut out of my vocab
Cause these emotions that get stolen never find its way back
I need LoJack
*** I loathe that
But you know that
And still those
Words sprung from your mouth
After the fact
My response I had none
Her face froze
She was appalled by it all
She said it again I pretended
That those words didnt
Affect me
Till they really didn't
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 6:42 PM UTC