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