call me what you really want to call me
that way we can understand each other when we talk
Spirit
Seat at the Table
how,
how can I acquire generational wealth
when living through situational hell
with,
systemic instigations that pale-
in comparison of,
prison administrations that quell-
my liberation of self
with the,
stipulated mitigation of jail
and ‘minute- manipulations of cells
because time is an envisioned prison itself
while,
societal limitations impale-
me, with insinuations to fail
to which there is no individual tribulations upheld
therefore it’s hard to excel
when we succumb to the dust on the shelf
only aided mere crumbs, seen as governmental handouts for help
but we have too many stories to detail and tell
which are far from tales
or momentary spells
of how our generational economics have been derailed
so I want my seat at the table!
the table that speaks for my son’s generation
the table that frees the coming generations
the table that legislates
the table that educates
the table that medicates
the table that regulates-
the equality of section 8
demolishing the label of second rates
the table that discerns with impartial and equal middle grounds
the table that rains and trickles down
because every time we get ahead
we get kicked in the head
stunted into mercy, then silenced underground
into mass nameless graves, taking even more generations for us to be found
so I want my seat at the table!
we had a seat at the table
and each time, it was taken from us, then replaced with fables
laced with false narratives, lazy titles, and helplessly dependent labels
rendered handicap and less able, not unable
crutched by lies playing to racial systemical ratios
so I want my seat at the table!
I want my family to understand financial freedom and generation wealth
I want my people to walk in their light with their pride and not in stealth
I want America to reflect the sweat, blood, and bodies that were bore for it
I want my culture to not only be monetized, but I want to reap more for it
I want my bonds relinquished and to have more than a vote
I want my voice to ring so loud and vibrate so far, that it can’t be silenced by a choke
I want my voice to be more than a quote
I want my voice to reform tradition while reinstating truth and hope
I want my voice to speak change to constitutional oaths
I want my voice to generation by generation crack the yoke
I want my voice to decimate glass ceilings and break the mold
I want my seat at the table
I don’t want an angle
I want to scoot up, below my chest, and above my navel
look around, and say, “thank you,
it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,
and to clear the air, I will be here for the duration
so let’s cozy up and architect plans of systemical renovations
that create new floors and ceilings that do not leave my people slumped in continued economic prostrations
and socialized denigration
objectified as political pawns, while subjected to cultural and commercial misappropriations
due to centuries-old creations-
lacking proper representation
despite social revolts, mass protests, boycotts formalized civil disobedient demonstrations
that way, we can make room for my coming generations
and let’s just say, umm, “generational wealth” will be the primary topic of conversation!”
in the meantime, I would like my overdue V.I.P. tending
so I’ll have the chef’s special,
your finest wine, truffles, lobster, and a steak with all the trimmings
because we paved ‘the’ way for all this high society privilege and overindulgence to be, since the beginning
and I’ll be damned if this doesn’t eventually end in a vindicated Hollywood happy ending
#alongtimecoming-trending
Barefoot Bravado
took my boots
but I became a Flintstone
and still I stood tall
moved on
walked strong
progressed
and carried on
hastening my growth
you stopped nothing
but your own momentum
picking up boots,
I already grew out of
and grew beyond
strengthening my soul
by hardening my insoles
Dear Correctional Officer
Dear Correctional Officer
hmm
well here we go again
I guess I’m just an unprivileged pedestrian for you to just taunt
having an ever-present freedom that you can freely flaunt
taking pride in the power you wield over me to keep me from what I want
acting like my past is my present
as if I didn’t first have a past that was present
but became a past presence that still haunts!
Dear Correctional Officer
I get it that I’m a nail
and you are the hammer society sends whenever I decide to rebel
but the ominous hand that grips that hammer can go to hell
because all through my upbringing you have been rooting for me to fail
suspending me from your schools and sending me to your jails
tearing apart our families and charging disproportionate bails
canceling our visits,
disconnecting our phone calls,
and ripping apart our mail!
goading me from beyond the locked doors of our cells
reveling in our yells
forcing your restraints with jabs, knees, and mace as we flail
believing it a tall tale that we sell
of any aforementioned traumas that we ail
brutality being all we’ve known so we hardly venture from our shells
the frequent sound of bullets parallel,
to your cowbells
as we drink pride by the pail
in our styrofoam or 40oz holy grails
advantageously reaping from a code created to never tell
so we suffer in silence as a machismo,
and a last-ditch effort to uphold our dignity
basking in our criminal affinities
because our preordained stereotyped criminalized identities
limiting
products into proclivities, as a show of, productivity
over any sense of sensitivity
desensitized, by over-prescribed, opioids
and chemically imbalanced remedies
compartmentalized coping in epithets laced with obscenities
with our backs constantly gripped against the rails
and our shadows being the least of things creating a trail-
of suspicion, but this is
but a glimpse of being a black male
Dear Correctional Officer
boasting of your power
the paradigm of my life summed up within your work hours
gun towers
invasive showers
and threats of misconduct reports and segregation
all just to get us to cower
but I am no coward!
these numbers seldom define us
they only bind us
this number doesn’t define me, it defines you!
clocked in overtime
for a paid peace of mind, is just one of the signs,
let me remind you!
but I still have an outdate
though I’ve been imprisoned all my life, so to say,
I still have time due!
I’m not here to shine boots
and I hate the fact that prison is where I became unbound
and no longer a blind youth
just to find roots
and proof, not just spoofs of my truth!
which I’m no longer spooked
to spew
and realize all that I do,
is to defy you
looking straight in your eyes, unresigned
yet inclined, in my redesign
where I fly heights beyond roofs
combined with allies, that align and alkaline my pursuits
instead of divide
we decree, decry, devise and cosign ties
to this black sheep state of mind
so we can be heralded aside
not to be in front
and especially no longer to be, behind you
Dear Correctional Officer
ha, you tried
you try
and I almost gave up and slipped into the wayside
but this is WayOfLife
I am WayOfLife
this is my way of life
so this fight, is my way side
Dear Correctional Officer
let this be my sign off
to the largely case hurters, not caseworkers
case Damagers, not case managers
unit instigator, not Unit Administrator
chief warlord, not Warden
Subjector, not the Director
and to the Harbinger not the Governor
all of Nebraska and Nebraska’s Department of Dissection, Not Correction
and to any other unprogressive minded states, institutions, and governing bodies
collecting checks off the miserable
controlling our lives hereon
being the judgers, discerning the judged
yet calling us check collectors
locking us away because our violence imposed upon each other
yet you example that might is right, if you’re…
but we the people
the ones called offenders
not only are we redeemable
not only are we the engine of your running societal subjugation
but we are the meek
not weak
but mighty, in the resilience of your favored and constant onslaughts
our voice, our bodies, our vote, our numbers, all count
our families will be heard and whole again
our supports will sound off and hold our justice system, lawmakers, and country accountable
and our many licks and wounds will be vindicated
because we coming
and that can’t be stopped
but until all can get there
I’ll be coming
so I’ll see you soon,
on the other side,
Correctional Officer!
Residue (song by WayOfLife)
feel like I’m at the bottom, even when I’m at the top
well everything don’t mix-
I got so much left to prove, that’s why I can never stop
cuz everything can’t fix
and ignorance ain’t bliss
some things I gotta shake-up
too much weight- I had to break up
some love lost- I had to make up
options made- I had to take one
blame was gave- I had to face them
pain is always instigatin
I’m just steady renovatin
no escape- just immigration
I suppose I’m ventilating..
and what should I choose?…
cuz it’s starting to feel like no matter what I do somebody will lose
some things will cut,
and some things will bruise
but WayOfLife worry bout you
cuz they will not walk in your shoes
they have an opinion but they do not have any clue
when you was in prison, they never seen from your view
did they ever think about you?
out of sight out of mind…
but now that you’re back in their view
they want interviews
they wanna hear what’s deep inside of you
like what is your truth
cuz they wanna check how you feel about them,
they really aren’t worried bout you
feel like I’m at the bottom, even when I’m at the top
well everything don’t mix-
I got so much left to prove, that’s why I can never stop
cuz everything ain’t fixed
and ignorance ain’t bliss
some things I gotta shake up
too much weight- I had to break up
some love lost-I had to make up
options made- I had to take one
blame was gave- I had to face them
pain is always instigatin
I’m just steady renovatin
no escape just immigration
I suppose I’m ventilating
and you got two sons…
and you had a family, but you ain’t see them
they know bout your sons…
but they never checking on them
and you read the signs…
decipher them inside your songs
they only see wrongs
they all did you wrong
I don’t know how you stayed strong
I don’t know how you stayed strong…
well you had some friends..
that acted like family when family ain’t there,
and you know that’s rare…
your pain that they share
they showed you they care
you never complained, they know life ain’t fair
and you was embarrassed–
but they told you cherish
the things you inherit
cuz it gave your talent and passion some merit
you had to climb up out the cem-e-tary
the cross that you bared
inside the pen that you carried
in the pen-e-ten-ti-ar-y
you had a light that they told you don’t bury
believed and envisioned, you a visionary
but sometimes those visions get scary…
cuz sometimes it’s too hard to carry
sometimes it’s too hard and heavy
feel like I’m at the bottom, even when I’m at the top
well everything don’t mix
I got so much left to prove, that’s why I can never stop
cuz everything ain’t fixed
and ignorance ain’t bliss…
Late Night Tripping (song by WayOfLife)
hello?
wanna know what insanity is?
when looking inside of a chrome-plated mirror,
inside of a prison,
with low visibility-reflecting on what I think vanity is?
asking myself what humanity is
candidly wonder where amnesty is
damaging vantage I vanish like mist
inside I may panic
but manage the manic and maniac mannequin standing right here
I stammer in puddles of blood, that I cut, but ugh!
I need to bandage my wrist!
{starring up at that moonlight
project to balance my mood right
I howl at times when its too bright
war with myself, like I duel life
there’s more to me, there’s more to see..
split in two is my dual life
embrace one half of me to-night
fork in the road, I knife two sides} X2
there’s something off in my head..
I can barely see beyond red..
compare the breeze to my breath..
I can barely breathe, am I dead?
it ain’t rare to think am I dead..
I dare to dream from my bed..
illusions of my success..
I’m delusional I guess..
cuz ain’t no hope in the mess..
too many worlds that I mesh..
astral project out my flesh..
‘cuz I’m tired of feeling all this stress..
it’s hard to feel like I’m blessed..
feeling less than whole, a moon crest..
{and I get inside of myself
hide from the light, and go climb in myself
I never question in spite of myself
wasting my time asking why to myself
too many answers collide with my health
too many pill vials all piled on my shelf
all this time wasted apprised on my belt
so I stare at the sky while I fight with myself} X2
{starring up at that moonlight
project to balance my mood right
I howl at times when its too bright
war with myself like I duel life
there’s more to me, there’s more to see,
split in two is my dual life
embrace one half of me tonight
fork in the road, I knife two sides} X2
{looking at the sky…
feels like I’m in a dome…
how can I leave this prison..?
when it feels like my home…}X2
I contemplate
I meditate
sometimes I pray
I hesitate
I medicate
to regulate
then resonate
with residue
I contemplate
I meditate
sometimes I pray
I hesitate
I medicate
to regulate
then designate
a better way
and I get inside of myself
hide from the light and go climb in myself
I never question in spite of myself
wasting my time asking why to myself
too many answers collide with my health
too many pill vials all piled on my shelf
all this time wasted apprised on my belt
so I stare at the sky while I fight with myself
{starring up at that moonlight
project to balance my mood right
I howl at times when it’s too bright
war with myself like I duel life
there’s more to me, there’s more to see,
split in two is my dual life
embrace one half of me tonight
fork in the road, I knife two sides} X2