Yea I deleted my old posts,
got used to deleting my history,
trying to wash myself clean,
but the soap is hopeless,
every Jim cares to see the mask off,
I should probably take my hat off,
I'm leaving incognito.
Bruce Lee tapompele,
the almighty was one of us,
truly like a stranger on the bus,
I'd be the first to free Barabbas,
more in common with a criminal,
Israel in 4BC had no mass communication,
but the problem has always been about the broken communion,
2000 years later many in China are yet to hear good news,
can we break passed the great walls,
you can tell from a distance that I watched a lot of television,
spent little time in rosy parks.
recently I became aware of my ignorance of the past,
tried to to undo my evils like samurai Jack,
this is a long poem so don't expect a haiku.
See I'm one of those trees who'd take in things passively like phloem,
it riled me up when I discovered things like who Huey represented in the boondocks,
feeling like a Tom dubious making a Ruckus.
I realized I was a slave to many things,
so I'm on the pursuit of being a free man,
started to think about what it meant to say wakanda forever,
it made me wonder if maybe Zion is better.
I was wrong to complain about the land that I was born in.
I just want the Potter to hurry up,
my clay is dry I can feel it cracking,
the blackness is Syrias,
M just turned 16 but some boys his age have seen more than M16s,
makes me wonder which direction I should pray this Easter.
No shots fired maybe I need some gun control,
Your pen is your pistol,
mind is a missle,
mouth is a canon,
don't trade it for a nickle,
no matter what burdens you carey,
I hope you get the picture,
be sure you know your artillery.
Most of my moves were fear driven,
If only you could feel the sound of my mind,
conspiracies and half-truths ain't kind,
like a big fat liar,
scared of the big bad wolf,
how could reading about four horses
make me so unstable,
walking with a cane wondering if I am able.
I knew my solids, liquids and gases,
but couldn't really tell what matters,
playing fifa but deaf to the blatters.
I started filling the gram with heavy sounding poems like this,
thinking yeah this will show them,
I'm part of the fam,
I too, a proud African,
I'm in the loop, I understand,
even if I didn't really need a tissue when Mr ***** mouth ******* on us.
When I looked at my kin,
I never saw black gold that could fuel the world,
I was too busy being a black sheep, trying to invite everyone one to my pity party,
''the world would be so much better if everybody was more like me."
If I was a king they would call me apathy.
although he took my penalty I took his gift so casually like a chip.
They marched on in procession,
I forgot my profession,
Got used to my chains,
losing direction,
it would be weird to take them off like a wristwatch,
tick tock.
I have to get back to simply city,
Trust in His foolish wisdom,
leaf behind so I can branch on,
learn to take off my specs every time that I log in.
Change my locus,
media makes it hard to focus,
forget the locusts and use the remainder,
see all the division disturbed mine,
family and friends I left behind,
I expected the watchmen to bark at the sight of the poacher,
desiring to **** agape,
forgetting love as quickly as harambe.
things get shaggy when velma can't see the clues.
I guess I was a dead dog,
****** doomed,
let the leaven grow on my trunk,
you could see it when the fungus grew and leeched on my nutrients,
slowly but surely my heart began to rot,
fearing that this gentile man had been branched off after playing with the moss.
I know I can be extra and do the most and can make faith look look complicated which it isn't,
I've had seasons of confusion which certainly weren't from the King,
he tries to steer me away from the flames that will grill me,
but I lose courage and act like a chicken from nandos,
he's not like the hungry lion,
always prowling at my week's mess,
to truly be strong one needs to be weakend,
we couldn't read the daily mail if it wasn't for the red posts.
He's debonair and gentle so now I'll take his orders,
I hope he can deliver me,
I'm encouraged by the romans,
sometimes it's just hard to express
how much Jesus changed the way I sea things,
even when storms are tough,
I don't want to lose my seasoning.
They're many silly lies that become stumbling blocks when He's supposed to be the only one,
misinformation like the titanic,
that mislead the sheep,
listening to the assassins creed,
busy brooding in their sleeper cells.
If I was a woman I'd be the one at the well,
a random Jane doe never seeing my blindspots,
hoeing around like a rabbit,
digging a broken cistern that can't hold water,
cause God came to make things pretty,
after I made them ugly.
When I sin I think about Sinai,
got all these ankle weights strengthening my golden calves,
maybe it would be better to ponder Golgotha,
maybe my bones will live if I take the flesh off,
He came to help me but I scoffed him,
he came to heal me but I licked the wounds of my old wineskin.
Despite all the unnecessary complexity and errors of my ways,
all I have left is to trust that the blood of the lamb doesn't clot,
even when I act like a goat,
even when I let my heart turn to stone,
when I can't see past the thicket,
he'll ram past the chest of my fears,
crush the treasures of my heart,
so I can be free to blow the horn of salvation for all men,
that we may never be extinct,
whether sudan or 'abyad,
to receive the free invitation,
to be reconciled with the God of creation,
a call to enjoy true liberation.
The first sentence of this poem is referring to my instagram account.
Tapompele means not buff or strong
