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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I think we block our own blessings. I think the crescent moon has a glare to its presence. Bespoken hypotheticals, the ones of the present, My past is in a foot race as if I’m a servant. I’m learning the lessons about our blackness and roots, Am I a victim to you? Cause I couldn’t afford the comfort, of private schools and Benz’s? I won’t mince my words, or change the lenses they come in, It’s only fit.. My history won’t fit the dream you all call American, A mere glimpse inside my can will shatter your “I can do things” Through Christ I’m a prophet, Yet to you I’m nonprofit, And to them I’m a lost cause, it seems I should forfeit. Another anomaly, in a system that’s broken, The more we speak, the more we awaken the quaking and aching. Am I a ghost to the ruse? I’ve been abused and used, Feel I should cut things loose, so that I’m of no use. A mirror, shows my broken spirit, My country doesn’t care about the limits put on our heads, Everybody’s got a dream but no dollar to spare, Retire now or die later, see if we dare to care, Intuition, doesn’t do much good, if you reach below he’ll blow your brains and we’ll feel the pain, Now can we stop with that poor man’s dream? Seems like we won’t gleam til that light shines bright, we’re not even of white complexities, that’s just the complex city we live in. eternally, D.J.F
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