My mind is a cauldron of realistic poesy within writers' ethers
My mind speaks archetypes, not filters
I write life, I don't borrow facade
I supply sanity because I ain't in the asylum of demand
Even when as though in midst of double consciousness;
I write write in right to conquer that madness.

I speak the mad sparks of negro folks
of residence of them within the blind blanket soaks.
I flood the blazes of flame via pens and pencil,
Slicing bits and pieces and parts and parcels
Of me on board of choppers
Like matchete chasing grasshopers

Of reality like the continuum jump of a Jim Crow, I flipped page upon page
Beholding old school dispensations collapse into the new age
of technology and "slavery seem freedom"
Giving up to make in the name of freelancing and fake forms
I speak as light, so you see..
As a poet that has travel across Mississippi's

I have touch the sickle stings of death
Of the heavenlies I prayed the breath
I have been burnt by the shark coals of life
I am muse that have scarlet burnt on his throat and battle strife
And I'm the peace on a tournament with devilish red.
I chose life instead.
I chose the very breath of that beats like the heart
Of Odysseus on pilgrimage.
Choose Life this day .

© Charisma