I create movement by being still
And listening to what harmony has to tell me
And trust me, she plays around
She says, “everyone wants a piece of my action”
“Yet it starts by de-acting, with not a single thought”
“You want me honey, get serious with your peace”
“And raise that peace from your head, out, and release”
A vast world for the taking,
Rusty chains ready for the breaking.
I will claim this rock for the glory of its molder.
I will make time pieces of silver everyday I grow older.
There is a great passion ready to erupt,
One fueled by purpose, never fool’s luck.
There is a fire in my heart, willingness in my hands,
For I will create a legacy that exceeds the common man.
And after I have secured the world like a pocket watch,
The Lord will take my breath and the legacy will stop.
I sit here on the border line of insanity and sanity.
I have done it again, I have looked for deeper meaning in shallow places by convincing myself that it does not matter, but it does…I am lost. But if you look at me you would think that I knew exactly where I was going.
I head for destruction because I’m afraid of resurrection because it comes on the third day and I have to lay in a tomb…lonely…waiting for those who have faith in me…giving me strength to roll back the stone and reveal myself.
I want to reveal the true self…the self that I have longed and yearned to share with the world…to share with you.
Who am I? I am ready to say, “you or no one else!” But I am afraid because I know that this body can not even stay true to my own spoken words let alone the words spoken by God.
Why did you cross my path? What do you have to teach me? I sit in this tomb lonely…will you come anoint my body…have you come to send away the stench of death? Please come….this tomb is lonley.
I am glorified, but without you…how will people know?
My body lays on this cold stone…it wants nothing else, it has ceased to give life and it has been broken by death…help me rise. It is complacent in having dreams of what could be possible…but I want to walk, I want to live.
My heart still beats…take my heart, I am not scared to offer it to you and please do not be afraid to take it…hold it, secure it, love it……….allow me to resurrect.
The beautiful Myra Jacobs brought a bunch of us down to check the Yabba Pot down on Charles street for some spoken word. Low and behold, it was pure hott fiyah. These cats spit hip-hip and political problems like they were having breakfast because this shit will wake you up. The Yabba offers the city’s premiere vegan cuisine, but on Saturday nights its is pure spoken word goodness with open mic sign ups for local spoken word artists, two fresh hosts who spit and are backed with unbelievable facts and knowledge, and a crowd that will argue with you about what’s right in the world till the sun comes out. The feature that night was Sheist out of Philly who was the former local slam champ. This isn’t your ordinary spoken word joint, they hash it out and talk about issues in between every poems whenever a brother or a sister is moved. Let’s just say at some point of the show I had to stick up for the hope in the male race that we REALLY CAN have female best friends. Dope.
Push aside the dictionaries
this is an epiphany thats about to bust all your capalaries
because noun or verb
it looks like you’re trying to define me
with what you’ve heard
But excuse me miss and sorry sir
but the real story isn’t
the same damn story you thought you heard
these people they be talking
like they Dr. Phil with alllll the answers
they edit our falls and mistakes like a psychopath wikipedia entry
leaving it open for the rest of the world to click the edit button
what they fail to realize is that the only source of knowledge
that gets edited and published daily
is our OWN minds and knowledge of self
excuse me to all of you who seem to be a little off in your editing skills
but peer edit this
the only person I need editing this story, my story
is the person sitting in front of me
willing to listen before clicking the edit button
and that one person
is more than enough
to publish the Webster’s Encylopedia Britanica
of my life
this mass participation, I think I’m right wikipedia shit, ain’t gonna cut it
