Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Spoken Word Performance: Neighborhood Charter School


On May 25, 2011 I was invited by Shannon Roberts to perform for her middle school students. Shannon Roberts was my English teacher in 7th grade. She actually taught me a method I use to this day when writing poetry. It was lovely to perform for the students, the questions they asked I was open to answering, and I enjoyed catching up with my former teacher.

I can't wait to work with the students next year. I will engage with Shannon's classrooms throughout their entire Poetry section, and the project that is partnered with the Institute of Contemporary Art in Boston, MA.


Wednesday, May 11, 2011


What happened to you
You used to
Drop knowledge on me at a young age
Beckoning me to walk the right path
Now you've started to kick back
Revert into a child
As you still swaddle the nipple of your mothers breast
Do you lack the muscle of your chest
Switching back and forth between sanity and reality
I used to know you
Speak proudly of the man who owned property
Had businesses and titles in his name
A father
So you taught me to be proud
And I always was
Until you started fucking up
You began to disclose the stigmas in your brain
Then you became
Nothing more than a statistic
Another black man down
Blaming the system for your careless mistakes
I don't want to say that the 10 of us are a part of the many you've made
But who knows what's going on inside your head
The other day
You told Grandmama that you had a divine intervention
Still you've yet to mention where this will lead you
Cause to me?
You're still on the wrong path
I don't understand how you got this way
And why are you so mad with me?
It is your blood that runs through these veins
So then I wonder what will happen to me when I reach your age
I've tried to become anything but you
Removed myself from all situations including your prescence
Because even though I am your child
You have narrowed me down to the sperm that dripped from your nutsack
Do you even remember when you said that?
Wretched man of wicked ways
You are an embarrassment
I never speak of you
Since I've never spoken to you freely in years
I am jailed behind this mask
Hiding my tears
Walking around life with this burden on my back
Fighting down the fears
And avoiding the issue
Because you are not the man that birthed me
You are not the man that raised me

You are no man at all.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

I miss breakdancing.
I miss random late-night catchups.
I miss insiders.
I miss long AIM away messages.
I miss being able to confide in someone.
I miss laughing.
I miss bright kicks.
I miss Saturday morning cartoons.
I miss 3am trips to Wal-mart.
I miss my Cafe.
I miss thrift store shops with my Grandmother.
I miss driving on Route5 with my Grandmother.
I miss travelling freely.
I miss being able to wear fitted caps.
I miss the days of conversation.
I miss stir fry for dinner.
I miss playing chess over good conversation.
I miss learning from people, not Googling.
I miss inspiration.
I miss free-spitting.
I miss my fro.
I miss feeling individual.

Now I'm just a grey dot in the masses.