I’m taking my gloves off and I’m ready for war with my bare hands
Because if one rap song is worth a thousand sermons,
Then one poem should wake up a million troubled souls.
When you start to place the world’s issues into sonnets, haikus, and floetic phonetic tunes
It will start to twist into an eclectic rhythm that beats like a snare drum on your weary soul.
You begin to feel alive like the day when Jesus arose and climbed off the cross to save our souls that looked like, and talked like, and walked like, and sounded like, and smelled like scents of sin that created you and me from the start of Genesis.
It might have taken 4 hundred and 60 years to fix the corruption that happened
But how did 1 hundred days ago we let a president win from electoral votes.
It was the popular votes that would’ve given us hope.
Like the day When Michael Jordan won his second 3-peat, or When Prince dared us to party like its 1999 or when Rocky had his first fight with Apollo Creed.
No more will I allow my heart to just bleed with the words of injustices
spoken from warriors that never watched my mother scrub floors with her bare hands
To get money to fed us Egg Salad Sandwiches and government made Macaroni and Cheese because Momma’s fried chicken only came around on Sunday because Momma worked twice as hard on Mondays.
We wasn’t accepting of the stereotype of being called poor because the richness of pure love ran through our veins as I call Brooklyn my home even when we had three chained locks holding up our front door to protect us from those who lost their means and tried to rob us of our luxuries.
That need for greed wasn’t taught originally it came created and driven by enslavement mentality that rotted our people’s rights to breath.