Poetic Justice

Tired of Me?

I write because I think too much.

Bored with questions.

I want answers.

I gave up on my ambitions when I lied to my dreams.

I’m too hard!

Lying to you. Lying to the my character.

The reality of my thoughts set the tone for what would not be.

I walked through the lives of other people. A mirage of a deferred dreams!

I turned up their volume while I muted me. I could only hear what they had to say about me.

I was too busy obsessing over how emotions dealt with love, life, and misery.

I tried to yell cut, but I was intrigued by the need to pay attention to their fallacies.

Have I lost me? Has my displeasure evoked an emotional rollercoaster with no end in sight?

I was deeply entrenched in heartache. Todd lost the roadmap to me.

Can I use GPS (God’s Positioning System) to reach me? Be who God envisioned in me?

I’m sorry. I know I love you, yet are you tired of me?


Mystery Man

A man is no longer a mystery.

The dawn of reality is upon us as he opens up.

Curtains please.

Understand the definition I portray is no longer a farce.

It’s no longer a dream.

I’m willing to share my one part harmony to flow with poetry.

I no longer have to scheme.

I give thanks for breathing in your requests. The agony. The pain.

The thrill of victory!

The repetitive cries out to hear the nightmare that day time has been without.

Man we are patiently waited upon.

Patiently there is no need to daydream when you can see men.

I don’t have to barter my melody for the melancholy of make-believe that was fed to you about me.

No more moments of silence as you ask ” is a man a dream?”

I no longer live in make-believe.

Believe I can compliment you.

Are you ready to compliment me?

Poetic Justice

Black Entertainment?

I’m tired of listening to the lies that are inside the idiot box to keep me a stray.

BET your showing me while I’m looking at you. The preview of repugnant garbage that’s uncut. Your programming is see through. 

That’s nice you have a new lineup of shows. A line up at a strip club has new acts to keep the old ones in tact. 

Your programming is transparent, but its more of a parent company like Viacom that pulls the stings. Now we are more n’sync with MTV.
Oh I didn’t forget about your little brother VH1 that exploits our women with short dresses, and black men I can’t look up to because their hair is as long as Brett Michael’s.

A lot of people have been real nice with the words they use. Now I fully refuse the amusement by the muse you choose to market. This community is worth more than the commercialism you capitalize on TV.

How dare you think you can play me on your shows with that tomfoolery you put on prime-time TV. The hurt and pain I express is seen so far that most African American’s can’t look at you.

You have become so mainstream you polluted the basic cable waters that supply us with even the most basic information. BET is the CNN of tragedy. BET display’s videos of nonsense, and a senseless mockery of what real journalism is!

Entertainment isn’t all you are looked at to do. I know black people aren’t asking to much of BET. Unlike Charles Barkley “I am not a role model!” cannot be your decree.

I finally caught on to what you do. The condition is now terminal and no single act can save you. When I get done with your channel you should be put on blast, not in a tirade but like a breath of fresh air. 

Until then the parents in that board room are guilty to.  They can’t claim you know what we want to watch when the quality you promote is CO2.

Odorless, painless, you have put us to sleep for years, in fear that we would one day wake up.

You locked us in a box of stereotypes. The radio is blasting, car in gear, rear-view camera in view. We are on candid camera, Viacom is pimping you too!

People always say well at least you have BET stop your complaining. Wish on that black star power that we had BET too.

Viacom has that and MTV and VH1 too…