Monday, October 20, 2008

w.i.n.

he lived in North Carolina, i was here in VA
said,
"If i leave now, make it to you by midnight,
work at six, make love for three hours straight
i wouldn't even be late"

and i'm sorry
when did you get the memo
that i would sacrifice my soul
to be your booty call

he is my what if nigga
ten years from now
showing pictures of his and my kids
like"what if, nigga?"
like if you'd have come
that night would we still
have been together
"what if?" nigga

and if your offended by the N-word
then upgrade to being a man
he's 23
scared of PDA
and holding hands
breaks away to the sky when i hold his trance

and like Lackwanna Blues
"Babbbyyyyy you don't wanna do this dance."

cuz no matter how many blows
and heartbreaks
you throw at me
i'm still going to spit poems
about your ignorant ass
in perfect stance

still deliver metaphors on tippie toes
making gestures with my hands
like (middle finger here) "FUCK YOU"
and here's my plan:
if every man would submit themselves to kiss the shards of fragile hearts
broken
with bare tongue
they'd bleed our tears

drink from those
and they'd speak our years
of backsliding promises
forget me not petals
torn love letters
and spoken word poems
that are here
in my soul
on this mic
resembling fists of cupid's warriors

but what are we fighting for?
forget me not negroes
backsliding men
torn hymens
and literature that only bears the memories
of your rooster to new hen

it seems you've forgotten
amongst the decades
we were warriors too
confidence and class
bows our strength
arrows our hands
sheild our journals
poems our plans
voices of timber
tongues of gold
we birth worlds from one ten-inch fold

remembering,
i yelled,
"YOU JUST WANT ME FOR A BOOTY CALL."
He asked,
"How you figure?"
i said,
"Call me when your a man, not just a what if, nigga."

-riv-

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