Miss me with that poet shit

Stop.....

What are you doing here?

Why you are here?

You have not a clue

That you mosey across holy ground

But that is not an excuse…..

Mistakes, Pain, Dreams and nightmares

Fattened words

All are keys used to open this gate



But you,

You…do not belong here

This place

Exists not for you or others like you



You are blind;

So take my eyes and see what you are



You play your part well

But you are not deaf,

Hear me impostor

As I call your true name out loud

You traitor!

You liar!

Take the mic out your throat and

Give me back your voice

You deserve to speak only when spoken to



How ignorant can one be, in their blasphemy,

to try to bury their casket here?

Great men have left their echoes and shadows dancing

Lingering, underneath the catacombs

Even in death they planned to be always heard



I’ve seen angels bloom and die here

Seen men tilt their heads back and drink

Cracked words,

broken women slant down their throats

Letting it baste on their tongues

Savoring the taste, learning to love hate



I’ve seen tears be nomadic,

as they claw their way out inflamed eyes

Trying to redefine what it means to be emotional

I hope, that as they travel further south,

They fashion wings from sand

So when they land on the ground

It won’t seem so out of place hanging around



Your mind is too simple to form a thought of your own….



It’s no wonder you have no idea

Of what it means to be a poet



And you won’t have one

Until you’ve seen

A poet spit a poems

as if she knew Hiroshima was tomorrow

and each poem a minute of her live she had yet to live

You have no idea what it means to be a poet

Until you’ve seen

Him, poetic prophet,

prophesy of an earthquake his skin never shook from

Haiti, is a woman,

who made love to his spirit

and left her future floundering in his womb





This mic was not made to stroke your ego;

it was made to be stroked

You dishonor these veteran speakers

I hate the tenor in which you sing your arrogance

This ground is fertile, but not for you to plant your skeleton seeds

Hoping it springs into phone numbers and Facebook friend requests

The only clout you get here,

is earned when your lungs fall into your stomach

because it’s become too heavy to hang in your chest



Here, is the only place

where you are master and slave

This stage is a spoken word cage

where only you have the master key to set your life free

….poetry