Wattup everybody!??!

Ok, so I'm listening to A Tribe Called Quest right about now, and they told me that it is about time to pick up the pen and write.

When duty calls, I answer (except sometimes, I put duty on hold and it leaves me a nice voicemail!!)

So writing is what I will do...new poem coming in the next day or so.

I hope youo guys enjoy it.

I Must Get Back On It...

So I have been away for a really long time.
I'm sorry.
Summer 2009 has been the best/worst summer of my life.
So much bullshit
So much anger
Confusion
and...Happiness??
Whoa?!?
This shall all be within the next poem I post.
Stay tuned beautiful people...

Hello readers!!

So this is actually the first time I am posting something that is not a poem.

NEW POEMS THAT I HAVE BEEN IN THE LAB WORKING ON ARE COMING SOON!!

LOOK OUT FOR MY BOOK SOON TOO!!!!

Okay so let's talk...That is what I am good at, so let's get down to business...

First off, THANK GOD SCHOOL IS OVER!! (I go to Niagara University, so that's why we got out so soon.)

I love all of my friends there to death, and they know who they are. But shit pisses me off so fucking much. People there are childish, stupid, and get on my last nerve, but being the strong black man that I am, I can deal with it.

I have decided to write a book. The fact that my father instilled nothing in me motivates me to become someting that he never has: a real man.

I want to show the world that not all black men who grow up without their fathers ae drug dealers, gang members, drug abusers, deadbeats, failures, negative role models, or woman beaters. I want to show the world that just because you have been dealt a bad hand at the start, there are more and better cards in the deck left for you to get.

So the only artists that I have been listening to are P.O.S. and Atmosphere.

http://www.myspace.com/pos

P.O.S. (he never defined his name, but uses acronyms like "Promise of Skill, Promise of Stress, Piece of Shit, Product of Society") is a Minnesota-bred rapper on the Doomtree label. I was introduced to P.O.S.'s music by my good friend and NU graduate Joe Fitz.

I don't know too much about Atmosphere because I recently started playing their music every single day. I know that I will continue to write music for other's and my own personal satisfaction. I am a sucker for good music...don't judge.

So there! Lots more I can talk about, but some things are better left unsaid. Until my next poem, stay true. -Faze

And It Don't Stop...

So it's been a while since I posted a new poem or even been to my blogspot. So freshman year at Niagara University is finally over!!! I am back at home in the good ol' NYC. I'm living with my best friend (and the other half of Da Tayz) this summer because of problems in mi casa.



My mom is a psycho, and I have come too far to give up all that I have worked for. So...I wrote a poem for her a while ago, and I think I should post it up here. Enjoy!!



It penetrated the crevice of my soul
pierced my veins and seeped through my blood stream
and found its way to my heart
to tear it from the inside out…
That was the first time my mom said she didn’t love me anymore.
I felt like an unborn child
with the umbilical cord still wrapped around his neck
and presented to the world
like some kind of fucked up Christmas gift.
I used to dream about family reunions
and game nights spent under summer stars
but Im forced to deal with
demons wrapped around my head like a du-rag tied too tight
and my spirit is trying hard to force its way out of my body because
its hard living when the light switch is off.
I see you
how you are constantly haunted by Heineken bottles of your past
how you let Jesus be the motive of every action you make…
and I’m talking about you, not the US Army
I see it in your eyes
how you’re the first to stick their hands out
for someone to give you something
and the last to want to give anybody anything
I see the pain in your eyes
how I took 9 months from you
that you will never get back
how once the cord was cut, I was free from you
and you were free to do whatever you wanted
you held me like a bar of soap
because somehow I kept slipping out of your hands when I was a baby
and you were the first to blame someone else
whenever I cried and screamed
to let you know that even if I didn’t understand the pain you put me thru
it still hurt.
Your young life was defined by Tequila shots and champagne bottles
once it was all done, you felt like shit that you wasted it all at once.
I remember how you used to whip my ass
and have your boyfriend sit there and instigate the whole thing
because I made every attempt to pour your alcohol down the drain.
You beat me because you told me that when you drink
that’s your only opportunity to escape motherhood for just one night
Hangovers included.
When you drink the only people you have to worry about are
Jack Daniels
and Captain Morgan
and you don’t need to worry about the clothes Im wearing to school
the next day
and you don’t have to be bothered by my cries
because my rumbling stomach will eventually put me to sleep.
You don’t need to worry if the Boogey Man was under my bed
because I would rather him just take me away
than for him to see you drunk.
I can feel it
Every beating and spanking
how you did it just because the guy at the bar didn’t want to talk to you
all the built up anger I see in every balled up fist
that you swing at me
It’s okay I understand it…
Just let me pour some of your alcohol in my cup so I can let go
let you go
and let go of every black eye
and every bloody nose
and every broken arm
that you gave me.
I want to feel that sense of happiness.
Give me a chance to have a smile grace my face
while Im chugging three Bud Lites at the same time.
Let me smile when I play beer pong
and I miss the cup just so I would have a reason to drink the beer.
I want to forget about you
forget about every name you called me
for telling me that I was the reason my dad wanted nothing to do with me
for every time you told me that I was stupid,
and there was no cure for stupidity.
For every time you told me that you brought me into this world,
and you would like nothing more than to take me out if it.
For every time your anger blindfolded you
so you told me that if you beat me to a bloody pulp
not to blame you for it.
For every time you said that if I told anyone you beat me
I would have another one waiting for me after school
For every time I asked you why you did the things you did
and your only reply was that you were the boss
and bosses do what they feel.
Now that I’m older
I’m still that bar of soap
I’m slipping out of your grip
and eventually I’ll hit the floor
and all you can do is watch me sink down the drain
right next to Jack Daniels and Captain Morgan.

Are We Really Religious??

So I was given a writing prompt the other day and I ran with it. The prompt was the pope at confession. I thought it was very interesting, being that I knew nothing about the Pope or the Catholic faith. Read this, comment if you feel a certain way about it. Educate me. Be educated. Be on the lookout for my book coming hopefully in the Fall of 2009...enjoy!!

Father
forgive me
for I have sinned
I have been delivering messages like Christmas gifts
and some still don’t seem to get it.
I sit on my throne
awaiting for roses to be tossed toward the ground I walk
so my holy feet never hit the pavement.
I kiss more babies than the parents themselves.
Every room I enter, its like being at a concert
and Im the center of attention.
God called on me for a reason…
because I’m popular.
Father
forgive me
for I have sinned
if being the savior of the world is a sin
then here I am
Satan in the flesh
cast me away
to the fires of Hell.
Let my demons run through the streets
and my spawns break your bones when they stare into your eyes
to watch you melt into a puddle of your own sympathy.
You can only watch in shame
as my minions slip through the hearts of your politicians.
Your country was built on blind promises
so no other country but you can see what your purpose for war is.
Reality is a bitch aint it?
Pardon my French Father
Americans don’t like them anymore.
Watch how I conjure up mythical animals locked in your imaginary cage
that tear families apart
one by one
two by two
three by three
and by the millions.
You can only crawl into the fetal position
as you witness the dominance of my greatest creations unleashed
to prepare for the takeover.
Time for the takeover
no one is safe
Run behind houses but I can spot you from a mile away
use any tactics possible to prevent it from coming
but your time is short.
Father
I have sinned
for cleansing the world how I saw fit
allowing myself to visually combust
and cast out all impurities
that disobey the rules I made
Father
I have sinned
I have not fulfilled your dreams
I will not conform
Father
your highness
Almighty
Majesty
He who sits on the throne
higher than the hierarchy itself
Father
God
I have sinned.
I love my job too much
I was chosen
Chosen by God
Ask God for your forgiveness
and while your at it
tell him he owes me some money for what I’m doing on Earth.

Feeling Good

So...a few weeks ago, my teammates and I (Poetry Slam team from Niagara University) traveled to Philly for a National Poetry competition (Did somebody say Niagara University placed 16th out of 32 schools and 2nd in NY State?). There were a few poems about father issues that moved me, and I have been having trouble writing one about the homo of a father I have. Sometimes I wish he saw all the bad shit I say about him. But to make a long story longer, I was finally compelled to finish my own daddy poem, so here it is. Enjoy, leave a comment, and don't clown around:

I am so fuckin sick of waking up
every morning
with a pool of sweat in my bed.
I had a dream last night
that I was eavesdropping from inside my mother’s womb
hearing my mom and dad talk
and in a matter of minutes
I found myself in confrontation with a wire hanger.
Father
this I write for you.
Happy…fucking…birthday.
I cut my own face with a razor blade for 10 years
because you never taught me how to shave
I was left with the only option of watching porn
to learn about the birds and the bees
because I didn’t want to ask my mom what a blowjob was
I had to learn the art of falling down
because when I hopped on a bike for the first time
the only thing that caught my fall
was my own ass.
I never wanted to cry in front of my mom
because she told me that since you couldn’t live up to it
I was the man of the house.
Happy…fucking…birthday.
You better not come anywhere near me
cuz im gonna knock you out
mama said knock you out
and I’m gonna give you eighteen birthday punches
one for every birthday you decided not to show up for.
For every birthday I wished you would walk thru the door
and finally admit to yourself that you were wrong
and you missed being in my life
and that I was more to you than a sperm cell
swimming in a sea of unborn kids
when you somehow pleased my mom
and figured that the only way you would scar me for life
is for me to not know what the fuck you look like
I dreamed about you coming back since I was young
and I remembered
that Im more of a man than you would ever be
but I was never able to see your face
because the government in my mind wanted to keep you censored.
I wish you were there for Christmas
when I bought my mom a gift for the first time.
and I got you something too…
it’s a book
Fatherhood for Wussies.
Happy…fucking…birthday
I locked my true feelings about you
inside of my G.I. Joe action figure
so every time I played war
G.I. Joe would always end up dead
I told my story of pain and abandonment
through action figures of the WWF
Where was father?
Daddy
I am not a part of you
When I bleed, I don’t spill the same blood as you.
When you hurt, I don’t feel a damn thing
We
Are nothing alike
I
am not a man who thinks with his penis
and acts like his ass
You
are the epitome of low
Flo Rida and T-Pain can’t begin to describe how much you suck.
Happy…fucking…birthday
I made you a cake out of my elementary school art projects
Happy…fucking…birthday
I wrapped your gift with my awards from middle school
Happy…fucking…birthday
I made your card from my high school Regents scores
Happy…fucking…birthday
I bought you a tie with my high school diploma
Happy…fucking…birthday
And I disguised my middle finger with my college acceptance letters.
Happy…fucking…birthday.
I wish you many more

Why Can't I Be Blessed?

Hahaha...that's what I did when a white guy told me that I'm wasting my time here at good ol' Niagara University.
You know what...here's a poem that will explain exactly how I feel. Enjoy...comment if you must...do what you do I do what I do (Drake-Do What You Do):

I write this because I don’t know where to begin.
I have no clue where I began
so I will begin by saying that
slavery was never abolished.
I must have been misled when people wrote journal entries of how enslaved Africans stopped receiving whip lashes on their backs
and they stopped walking with shackles on their arms and feet
and no more where they tested to see if they could float in the Atlantic.
I must have misinterpreted the sources who said that the millions of diasporic Africans were emancipated
and they could finally rest their hands from working plantations
and healing their children after getting beat just for being a few skin tones darker than their slave owners.
I went to class the other day
and my white teacher noted that I wasn’t fully present in class
like I only showed three-fifths of who I really was
and that until the day came that I would be considered a human being
I would never be marked present.
It’s hard to believe that a single document allowed me to be free
but it wasn’t true because if I was free
Martin Luther King Jr. would live to see old age.
If I wasn’t enslaved
then Emmitt Till would have the opportunity to grow up and see adulthood.
If I was truly free
then I would have been asked to abandon my native land
rather than be forced to take a trip on a boat
chained next to African kings
and queens
and children
and brought to a world that follows a hypocrisy
rather than a democracy.
No, slavery is not over
because Fannie Lou Hamer would have easily cast her ballot
but instead, she was bruised, beaten and scarred.
And there would have been no Little Rock Nine if slavery was over.
There would be no need for nine black students to be escorted by the National Guard to integrate a white school
The National Guard?
Are you kidding me?
I can tell that slavery isn’t over
because my people didn’t have enough courage to sign their real names on letters they sent to former president Bush
because they were scared of being thrown in jail for executing their First Amendment right
Or as Thomas Jefferson would have said
The Constitution does not apply to us
So that means that Jefferson is to blame for my people continuously degrading themselves when they greet each other in the street
He should be held accountable for creating a generation that gives little to no regard for their enslaved ancestors
And now I understand why my hands always cramp up
because these hands used to pick cotton in the fields
and these hands were tied behind my back while I felt the crack of a whip eat at my skin
and these hands served both food and the ego of my slave owner.
Emancipation Proclamation? Yeah right…

Back At It...

I rode on the backs of thunderstorms and lightning bolts.
I always hoped it would get better
but right now I feel like a horse with a carrot on a string waved over his nose.
why does God have to show me how much of a failure I am?
I always talk to him
but I think he purposely puts his ipod on when I ask him for help.
I ran with the coyotes that searched for food.
I made a quick stop at the Atlantic Ocean
and I shook hands with dead slaves and sharks
and asked them what went wrong with their boat ride and if I should let other people know that
someone forgot to come back for them.
I rode in the backseats of cars with rebels
I put on my binoculars to find out that oppression was closer to me than I could see
so I didn’t need to enhance my vision to see something that was chillin on my mustache my whole life
me and the rebels ran from the damned villages of Sudan
drove over burned flesh and wasted ammunition
each bullet with the same message on it
kill.
we took refuge in broken shelters to come up with a game plan on how we can win this game once and for all.
I reached into my bag and I pulled out all of the ripped up Valentine’s Day cards I kept after a long life of 808’s and heartbreaks
My rage is booming out of my headphones
and I put all of my troubles on repeat so I learn the words of those songs.
I added a new playlist to my itunes today…
its called bullshit
so everytime somebody comes to tell me a rumor they heard about me, I blast that playlist to hear nothing but bullshit
and everytime I think about my father coming home to finally take care of his child, I blast the bullshit
oh…and everytime I used to hear a bush speech, I played that playlist too.
I spent time with the masterminds behind the Attica prison riot.
finding books by Farrakhan and Huey Newton I talked to the world about black power but I don’t think it was listening
they laughed In my face when I told them I wanted to help the world
and I replied that this world needs more T.I.s
but why does it have to take going to jail realize that you was making a mistake in the first place?
I rested in the hearts of elementary school gym teachers
I judged the fat kids and thought that they would grow up to destroy the ozone layer
I looked at the geeks and concluded that they would be the reason for global warming
I looked at the tough kids and I knew from that moment that they were gonna grow up to be politicians
I rode on the backs of mythical creatures locked away in imagination
yes mom
I looked up those words.
a slave is someone who is forced to work against their will
to live vicariously is to live through someone else
deadbeat is another word for dad who thought he had a vagina and needed to escape his responsibilities to find out more about himself
so is it safe to say that malnourished children in Africa live vicariously through me
and I work like a slave to help rebuild this nation
filled with young kids who did nothing to deserve deadbeat dads?
I swam with the penguins near the ice caps
I was told that I was gonna grow up to be a drug dealer
and a gang banger
and a theif
but I guess they never read my what I wanna be when I grow up essay
I wrote in the 2nd grade
so sorry, I don’t think firemen can be gang bangers
and I don’t think presidents can be drug dealers
and I doubt bus drivers are thieves…
hahahaha
pardon me
I didn’t even believe that for a minute