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Justin Taylor Poem
As a Kid, I never wanted to be viewed as Black. There were always negative connotations that came with that.
Death and Evil, things like the "Black" Plague.
The Representative of Darkness and the Loneliness of Shade.
I Remember a teacher told me according to statistics, by the age of 16 I'd Drop out of School
And by 18, I'd Be in the Prison System or in my Grave.
I guess she was trying to use a scare tactic to make me behave, but I took it in the wrong way!
Now I'm hating myself just because of the pigment of my skin is this way!
But the next couple of days, my opinion changed.
I started to learn some "Evil" History.
You see, there was the KKK and we had the BPP! I learned that my Ancestors were Kings and Queens.
From Light skinned to Dark all Black was Beauty. And a couple of musicians and inventors I do secede.
Then along came the NAACP!
My ancestors were writers and politicians, so what CAN I do?
They were Innovator! So what CAN I do?
They Broke Indestructible Barriers! So what CAN I do?
What CAN I do?
What CAN I do?
WHAT CAN I DO?!
Being Black, the true question is
What CAN'T I Do?
*Dedicated to the NAACP of El Dorado, Arkansas
Copyright © Justin Taylor | Year Posted 2014
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Justin Taylor Poem
What is Love?
MAN I don't know!
I mean girls say it to me all the time, but I just blow off their emotions like smoke.
What is Love?
MAN I don't know!
I mean when you prove it to me the caterpillar I call my intestines goes into their Cocoon
And metamorphoses into a butterfly that in my stomach flies.
It has me feeling like a buffoon.
But I've always been misperceived by Love.
The Misperception of an Erection has me heading in the Wrong Direction.
Now I'm moving with Aggression, and Repenting for my Transgressions.
Praying for my Acceptance back into these once Promised Heavens.
And then my Phone Rings.
Hello?
The voice says, "Babe I'm Pregnant."
Damn.
How can I Accept the Present of a Baby when Love isn't even in our Presence?
All from a single 4 Letter Word with 2 Vowels and 2 Consonants.
Falsely Used
Wrongly Accused
And Considerably Abused
Copyright © Justin Taylor | Year Posted 2014
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Justin Taylor Poem
You see, Desperate
Times call for
Desperate Measures.
Lengths no longer
defined by the kind
of weather.
The shorter the
shorts, the higher
the self-esteem.
and the Longer the
Sag the more Swag
and being oh so
Fresh and so Clean!
12 inch, 18 inch,
24, 36! Even numbers
but are the odd
lengths that ladies
lace front with.
Lace that can be
disassembled by the
small cut of a
stitch to take you
from a "Bad Bitch"
to the most
Dignified Chick.
Long Green. Short
Spending.
Long Lives that are
Shortly Ending.
Selling ourselves
Short for what we
thought was an
Infinite Length.
Worrying about the
Length of our Lives
always takes up too
much time and makes
us Miss the good
times that we always
wish.
Ain't that some
shit?
A Short Sentence
with a Deep Meaning.
A Short Mistake with
a Long Sentence.
Longer Strokes they
say? The more the
Feeling?
But I'm not feeling
nothing but the
shortness of
emotions, so I'm
trying to get out of
this Predicament.
I could make this
poem longer but
would that give it
more feeling?
And with this short
sentence I end it
"It's Finished."
Copyright © Justin Taylor | Year Posted 2014
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Justin Taylor Poem
It's funny how once your heart starts beating your body starts to decay.
It's crazy how we go through our lives thinking we're actually living, but we're dying.
Going Day by Day saying, "Live It like your Last."
And Indeed it could be your last because your heart can stop beating as fast as a snap.
But some 2000 years ago a man was born.
Who's alive today and helps us get through our storms.
"Peace Be Still" and he calms the stormy seas.
Waves his hand over water and wine is the replacement on this scene.
One word and the dead heart starts to beat, and that isn't even his most Miraculous feat!
Because he was beat until he was bloodied and unidentifiable!
The same stripes on his back are the ones that fly across our flag.
Burdened to carry the bridge that believers can cross, to get to the land that they're promised.
Stakes in his Hands! Stakes in his Feet! Not Philly or Cheese.
Red Blood gushes out that turns our black souls white with a holy gleam.
Spear in his side so that we can be by his side.
"Father they know not what they do!"
He drops his head then he.......... Dies.
Buried in a tomb that's borrowed.
Only to rise tomorrow's tomorrow
Giving us a chance to repent our sins and believe so that after death, we will live.
But only after acceptance that he died for you and that you believe that his love is true.
I guess I can finally understand the cliché line.
"Everybody Dies but not Everybody Lives."
Copyright © Justin Taylor | Year Posted 2014
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Justin Taylor Poem
Maybe it's those
eyes?
That Tantalize the
smallest tendrils in
the back on my mind.
Brainwaves emitting
from the head of a
bush whose beauty is
displayed not only
on the outside of
the leaves but also
in the deepest mean
of your hidden
fruits.
Paralyzed by the
curves of your lip,
as the white
crescents emerge
into the shine of
the brightest smile
a man can see.
Breaking the Dam of
Emotion, causing the
Sea level of Emotion
to rise in the Deep
Bowels of my Belly.
Butterflies?
How did this animal
flutter into my
stomach rumbling my
body into a smile
that shines right
back to yours?
It knocks my heart
out the park like
Sammie and shakes my
soul like the dreads
of Sosa.
Maybe its the hair
on your head?
From Puffball, to
Twisties and Dreads.
Personifying your
beauty by producing
graceful eloquence
and southern
decadence in such a
haste it makes my
heart quake, in a
Good way.
Your Fire
Personality is being
Iced by Sheepish
Eyes.
Such a Beautiful
contrast that seems
like the epitome of
perfection.
From your goofy
demeanor and reddish
brown complexion.
Your mind gives me
an erection.
I believe that your
Presence is my
favorite Present.
What a calming
essence.
I will never leave
your Presence.
Even at the Break of
Dawn.
Copyright © Justin Taylor | Year Posted 2014
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