A Tale Of Two Hoodies

February 26, 2012, I burned all 

Of my hoodies like the KKK did 

Crosses. And I vowed to never

Eat Skittles and Love Ice-Tea again.

From that day on, it was a sin

To be black and love Candy.

Who would have known that the 

Day we were all born we'd be 

sentenced to a life much too Nigga

To be literate. And much too coon

To be kool with the white kids. 

Who would have known that our 

Complexions no matter how 

Light or dark some may be, left 

Shadows in our mirrors. 

We often laugh at the Rent-A-Cop

But Zim-Man chuckled when he 

Allowed something as beautiful

As the Fourth of July to escape his 

Guns burrow and make auto-tuned 

Beats with the song of a black mans 

Heart beat. 

Never under estimate the power 

in the love of a mother. 

It was the only thing that 

Plastered his face national 

'cause Tray could have been 

another pair Of snickers up 

on the telephone lines.......

 

Hanging.

And it is incredible to me how we

Live by this system that was only

Built to protect the body of one

People but, swear up and down 

We're all created equal.

If we are all American why do

We all fall divided but say we 

Stand together? 

In my Hood we'd all be sell outs. 

We thought that jail was his

Home but, hell is much more hotter. 

Your flesh walks free but, your

Soul reeks of him............You are the

Monster every brown boy has 

Ever feared. 

And I hope the image of every

Brown boy killed thanks to 

want to be humans like you 

Sears your eyelids and never

Allow you sleep.

You made me hate my favorite 

Hoodie and drop all of my red 

Skittles......

The night your bullets burned 

The hoodie that was best friends

With his flesh, we all discovered 

The tale of the Two Hanging Hoodies. 

Image by: Michael D'Antuono 

Catch Me Here......

Catch me here like an

Unexpected cold. My

French Kiss 

Be your Thera Flu.

I'll lay in bed 

Next To You 

In danger of getting 

Sick of you 

Just to

Prove 

I'll always be there

For you.

Just saying it 

makes You listen.

But Proving it keeps 

Your attention.

As long as 

I'm down For you

I pray that you love me

With delicacy.

Be willing to Massage 

daffodils out of my

Spine after a long day

Of Dandy Lions. 

Promise me you'll hold me.

Hold this body that

Men before you said 

Was much too wave

To be held by arms 

As shore as yours. 

Even in the mist of 

Your sickness, when 

It's okay to be selfish;

Will you still call me in 

The middle of the night?

Just to hear me breath 

'Cause I'm much too

Slumber to bite into 

An "I Love YOU"

Will you Challenge the 

Truth behind my 

Purity ring? 

Will you get me to lust 

With you much too soon 

Because you think

I'm "Ea$y?"

Or will you 

respect my beautiful?

As dark and as poisoned 

As it may be, will you

On my death bed, 

As my Golden Sun-

Toasted skin

Turns black and blue,

Will you stroke my hair,

And whisper one last

"I love you" into the

Stem of my spine

And make my peddles 

Stand up?

Do you have the 

Cough drop kisses 

When my insecurities 

Wake up our Children 

During Christmas time?

If I be your sweet tea,

Can you be my Ginger-roots 

That enables me to muster 

Up the courage to testify 

On a Holy stack of Bibles 

Before God that I love you?

I'll always be here for you

Through Head aches,

 coughing,

Runny noses 

And 

Possible Tears 

And Fears. 

Even when you're sick in

Bed..................

I'll always be here with you.

 

Chicago Stars.

There are no stars

In Chicago.

The gun powder from

The spiritless gun men,

Cloud our sky's and

Cause at least 3

Mothers to make the

City rain with tears 

Tonight. 

There are no stars

In Chicago. 

We're always called

The windy city, well

That's because we're

Being Blasted away 

From the town we 

Call home. 

By the Brothers we

Call our protecters. 

 

And our Justice is 

unjust because justice 

Can't protect people

It wasn't meant to

Trust. 

There are burning 

balls of Gas but, 

These don't create 

Stars.

There are no stars in 

Chicago. Non that are 

visible in the skys. 

The closest to a 

Twinkle you'll get 

Is the look in a 

Childs eye. 

There are no stars

In Chicago. But if

You look hard enough 

You just may find 

someone with a pulse.

Call him Yeezus

He put himself on 

A crosse and deemed

Himself holy. 

Sold album after album

And wrote himself into

Existence. 

I'm not talking about

Christ but, he calls

Himself Yeezus.

Wrote raps in back

Alleys of Chicago and

Always quick to rock 

the cypher. 

Promised to stay a 

Real Nigga but forgot 

To spell his name.

He a college drop out

But he's done good for 

A quitter. 

He a real Nigga but he 

Cry 'cause he celebrity.

I guess he see what it's 

Like when It "All Falls Down" 

But aye, Shout out to Syleena.

He said she was his safe belt.

It's not a praise to Kanye, 

That seats been accounted 

For.

It's just a simple thank you

For the guide of how not to

Act with a life made out of 

Fame.

But I give props when the 

shit is due.  He's still

Hotter than all

These new rap frauds 

They have yet to get a clue.

See his mind is his 

weapon so what y'all

Loading Gat's foe? 

He could never be a 

2pac but his words

Are his sanity.

Come on. It's okay. 

Wipe the dust off.

We all know his 

Lyrics make us

Question his insanity. 

Loving In Parts

When you love someone,

You'll be surprised by the

Pieces of them that break on

Your fingertips from the 

Poison from which they've

Been loved before. 

You'll always want to

Ask permission to make 

Up for all the men that never 

asked, just took.

Didn't say "Please" just 

"Give me." 

When you love 

Someone, you'll be 

Surprised at the fear

In her blink. 

The stutter in his palm

Or even the fear in her 

Heart beat.

The many tests in loving 

Her came from the men who

Turned her whimper into a

Repugnant melody.

The men who made her 

History so bad that you'll

Hate it. Hate it so much

You'll be tempted to hate

Her too. 

When loving this woman you

Have to be sure to love her hard

But, not so hard you'll crush 

her. Love her smile so much it turns 

To laughter. 

And comfort her when she remembers 

The people who ever labeled her lier

When ever she spoke about the Ghost

That made battle between her legs. 

Comfort her, so you won't have to love

The black parts of her that have been 

rotten from low confidence

Or no confidence at all. 

No matter how he manages

To stretch his lips to say

He loves you when he's 

Only throwing parts of himself 

'Cause the other parts are 

afraid of the you that keep

Throwing them self whole.

Love Him!

But if you have to, 

Give her half of your 

Pulse. 

Love her with half of 

Your heart and keep 

The other half to yourself.

Love her so that you're unsure 

which body parts and scars 

belong To you. 

Loving him in parts mean 

you'll have to ask him how

He feels when he sees 

You naked. 

Maybe he feels like those

Bad men because their 

hands have traveled the same 

Hips. 

  

If he ever pushes you away 

Ask him has he ever hated 

Himself for loving a body

Somebody has abused? 

Loving her in pieces mean

You may have to kiss 

Some insecurities above 

Her forehead or hiding on 

her hip bones. 

Maybe those moments will

Be the Darkest, the saddest,

 the coldest,

or maybe even your weakest.  

In the shuffles of her eyes 

there will always be dark

Circles from the sun that

Have been back seated, 

Drunken, permitted to walk the

Streets of Chicago and pulled

From a drug addicted spirit. 

Loving her in pieces means 

you'll have to reach past the 

Hooks of her bra and 

Massage the sunshine out

Of her back into her spirit. 

You want to love him so 

lightly he's walking on sunshine. 

You should never give up or try to 

Replace it. Loving in parts mean 

You'll always have to ask 

Permission to love on them whole 

But, you'll always be told yes. 

Sometimes loving in parts feels like

Russian Roulette but, partly loving

Never gives you a greater chance 

of being loved back as loving in 

Parts. 

The Loop

5 Colors, over 200 Train Cars and Millions of people that spirits hide in between these train tracks we call "The Loop." 

To my right I have a love story. The perfect match to my eyes but, to their eyes could be a shouting match every night. A couple of "I Hate You's" tangled in a mesh of uncertainties, the girls inability to find stability. I see a love story. 

In front of me is another love story. This one's clearly abusive. A big gray sweater attempts to deflect my eyes from this woman's battered heart but, from the lies under her eyes I see in her tears worry has thickened her eye brows. 

At night she tries to wash off the pain but, his apologies keep giving her black eyes & his venom dispensing mouth keeps saying that he loves her. 

I know it's all a lie but, here in The Loop you best keeping out of other folks business. 

The Green lines carts are lined with lies about Chicago. This is the inner cities long term responsibility. So why aren't the hearts of our people saved?. 

Red line's lined with 2 way tracks, a couple Gay bashers finding their way to Boys Town, 6 young girls trying to find where home is & a couple of gun shells that tripped over the cement I mixed with my feet when fourth of July escaped from a deranged mans gun. 

The Brown Line. Not too many brown people when I look in the window but, the brown line's a white mans escape from harmful thinking and the brown lines the line the Brown kids take when they wanna write about their dreams or escape the hood for a bit. But, the brown lines not my place to escape. 

Purple. Talk back to your pimp you'll look like the purple line. Bruised & beaten walls. Graffiti from head to toe, you don't want to ride the purple line alone 

Or you'll turn blue, I'm not sure where this line takes you but I know it's not to safety. 

These trains ain't nothing but a way to transport us around danger! 

The danger we hide in love stories, gray sweater and train tracks. 5colors. Over 200 train cars! This danger comes in loops, an on going circle. This danger is Chicago's Loop. 

Proper Brown Skin

Brown,
Honey Complected,
 or
 Dark Chocolate;
every shade of
black is beautiful.

Let no one tell you
 that you're
not beautiful.

It doesn't matter
 how white your skin
 ashes or how straight
your spine curves;
the only thing that
matters is the question
marks in your heart.

So many ask OTHERS
"Am I pretty enough?"
But, always fail to ask
 THEMSELVES
about their Beauty first.

It probably will never
make sense to me why
 so many brown skins
get labeled
 "White Face"
for speaking properly.

Please excuse my
straightened priorities.
But, I'm not sorry for
speaking properly.

Brown skin is often
 looked upon as having
the lesser education,
sloppy,
bums and (or)
even lazy.

But what about
those Slaves that
get beat for wanting to
 read books.?

Who would I be to
take for granted an
education that's been
handed to me
....For free?

Pardon me
 if I speak properly
and pardon my
commas and quotations
that move your run
on sentences out my way.
But ,
 I'm not sorry
for not being black
enough for you.

But I am sorry
 that you didn't pay
 attention in history
class or that you go
to a school where the black
 kids are wearing white face.

I'm devastated that
 you didn't know our
Great Grand Mothers &
Grand Fathers were
strange fruit.
your insults and
stereotypical comments
will not stain the teeth
of my beauty.

I'm not sorry but,
I refuse to be miss
used and guided by
 the blind.

Your black on Black
 racist jokes will not
stain the beauty of my brown.
I don't care who's making fun
of me, I'll continue to be
brown skin speaking properly.
This skin is beauty's property.

This is a picture of my Best Friend and I. She's one of the most beautiful young women I know. She and I are a great example for different shades of black can getting along & loving one another for who we truly are. Flaws, Perfections & all. All black is beautiful. Brown, Honey Complected, or Dark Chocolate; every shade of  black is beautiful.