The untapped potential of our young people
Is unmatched and exponentially unequaled.
Some peak through, but others never scratch the surface.
Stymied by either a lack of resources
Or an untimely lapse in recourses,
Last resorts have blasted fortunes into a status that’s worthless.
Forfeited self-worth is a bankruptcy of the soul
That’s a forlorn, shell-torn vacancy to behold.
To ignore your core is a flagrancy too bold and foul to sense.
So as the stench’s fragrancy is condoned,
A trail of tears heinously unfolds…
As the cadence tolls from blatant doles roused in the pits.
Amongst a dungeon of drudged desperation
Such a pungent grudge can smudge one’s destination.
It summons separation from the pack with anxiety attacks.
Subjects bludgeoned by despair and hesitation
Suffer an unrest of sunken care for better stations…
Becoming heirs to trepidation – enacting pacts that quietly adapt.
What evolves from this is succession paralysis.
What I call this mix is regression analysis.
Fear is a wretched catalyst for generations lost at siege.
In essence, it represses the advent of strength
Until we express it as an absence of strength…
And once we’ve tapped into this abstinence, intimidation’s the lot that we breed.
Like Nas, we become afraid of our own strength.
Ignite the spark, and we’ll enflame our own glimpse.
We betray the component portrayed in closest proximity.
We sabotage and rag upon our brother’s bequest.
Like mastodons, we trample on the rungs of success …
As the advancement of vagabonds is a subtler effect boasting gross authenticity:
ACT I
I keep it real in the hood –
I’m an overdose of dishonor!
To keep a deal, I’ll be a hood –
I’ll promote coke and drama!
My sole persona’s misreppin’ on diss records –
I’m a close cousin to actors.
Kids emulate me,
but I’m no role model, see?!!
To situate legitimacy,
I showboat debacles and debauchery…
I’m not Hip-Hop, I’m hypocrisy – I am a no substance rapper.
I long for attention –
by any means utterly necessary.
I put on thongs that glisten –
Skinny seams cover my breasts, barely.
I have sex vicariously to invent and expose victims.
Though I ho my own image,
I blame the industry.
Though I choose to condone its diminishment,
I can’t change this industry…
Once I age, I’m history – I am a video vixen.
I’m intent to press quality records –
many would kill for my budget and skill set.
I’m reinvented with sex and immodest gestures –
I sub substance for realness.
I’m a chameleon – content to evolve and enthrall in a paltry market.
I take advantage of my audience –
you have BET Viacom to thank for that.
My fakeness planted is beyond fraudulence –
as a misleading teen icon, I’m faithful to my pact…
I’m a heinous act – I am an attention-starved R&B artist.
I enslave my own with llello and smoke –
they make easy targets.
I shave coke, I’m not ashamed, though –
I slang dope like street jargon.
I’m praised by folks with beats about my street markets
bled from drums and speakers.
I’m the metaphorical source of no substance rap –
it’s official, I’m Curtis Mayfield’s muse.
I’m the extra ordinal force of ‘controlled substance’ tracks –
when Fish Scale surfaced, it paid my deals tribute…
My traitorous trades infiltrate venues – I am a drug dealer.
I love industrious guys –
I prey for fundraisers with stacks.
My bait’s my seductive thighs,
I’m the fund razer that raids their stash.
I get paid on my back – but nobody else is told to pimp her.
I’m the third person party who runs the capers –
while men spin wheels, I track my own clientele.
It’s a thin line between love and paper,
the eraser’s my moneymaker, like Lynn Whitfield,
I will slap my own self if I fail!…
I get by relying on wealth – I am a gold digger.
It’s hard out there for me –
too many women have a sense of false power.
It’s my job to spout their therapy –
I talk ‘em up and lay ‘em down for costly hours.
I taunt their mounters with a philandered glimpse.
One price ruins two persons –
my transactions are ridiculous.
One vice screws a union’s purpose –
the attraction’s infamous…
My craft is villainous – I am a pimp.
I claim the latter as derivatives –
they’re all cut from my cloth.
My pattern is distributive –
I’m like a syndicate crime boss.
I refine loss – who said lawyers were vultures?!!
Where I spy weakness, I reap it –
so why develop my own strength?!!
When I tried uniqueness, it fleeted –
so what I envelop is corrosive…
I’m selfish in motive – I am an exploiter of my culture.
ACT II
I gather no moss –
Though I keep company with Mick Jagger and Keith Richards,
I’ll never meander over to pop –
I suddenly scatter once my paternity’s delivered.
Turnin’ my earned keep over for a litter?!! – my bastard seeds are fostered.
I have the restraint of wild animals –
I can’t contain urges to copulate.
To create a child is natural –
to raise one takes nerves that I opt to castrate…
I’ve cast the ‘pop’ out of populate – I am an absentee father.
I’m the counterpart to deadbeat dads –
I’ve got my own jaded life to live.
I renounce and discard toddlers like Dead Sea rags –
I can’t be a Wayans wife with kids.
For the right price, I’ll bid – the government helps me stress the village.
I keep foster homes thrivin’ –
I’m a parent by consortium.
I keep a doctor on my privates –
my womb’s nearly barren from abortions…
If I bear ‘em, I extort ‘em – I am a mother who selfishly neglects her children.
I ought to be charged for battery –
but sittin’ in cells for me is meaningless.
Besides, it would only prolong my strategy – my citadel is tedious.
I belittle frail anemia – I’m the louse that espouses amateurs.
My fort’s a force of reckoning –
my will aptly trounces with violence.
My retorts distort destinies – my zeal’s tantamount to a tyrant’s …
I wipe out wifely defiance – I am a spouse batterer.
I disturb the peace like Luda –
I’m the root cause of neighborhood watches.
I disturb street dreams like Krueger –
my Ruger haunts and robs safe havens of good conscience.
As the hood darkens – I worsen the despair within.
Ensnared in it, I ensure others will succumb to trouble –
I’m a rebel of lost cause.
I’m arrogant, I snub others with gun muzzles –
I’m an unsettled thug in harsh squads…
My level’s marred and off – I am an urban terrorist.
I own these figurative personas –
they’re curved to my blueprint of misery.
These clones are derivatives of my corona –
my circle of influence is riveting.
I’m a nuisance to chivalry – if you surpass where I fail,
I’ll pull you into hapless peril.
I drain power from others into myself –
whether or not we possess parallel traits.
I gain prowess by smothering your wealth –
Off the top, I’ve successfully held mates…
I’m full of self-propelled hate – I am a crab in a barrel.
ACT III
I muster beat downs from cowards –
I respond to disparaging flattery.
I let others bleed out my power –
the bonding severity latches to me.
My body bears the tragedies of drastic bouts.
Whether physical, mental,
verbal or in spirit,
I’ve weathered blizzard blows a plentiful
both hurtful and explicit…
I don’t deserve what I’m given – I am a battered spouse.
I have no faith in myself –
I’m afraid of failure.
The industrious traits I illustrate, I quell –
I’d rather play the trailer.
Despite the persuasion of elders – I shun being a leader.
To distract and counteract my aptitude –
I’m not a class act, I act up abruptly in class.
I’ll mismatch countless facts while I’m trapped in school,
but I’m a master at Madden – trust me, I’m bad!…
I can’t withstand bumpy paths – I am an underachiever.
I’m quite aware of my talents –
I determine my own success.
When it comes to sharing, I’m callous –
the streets I deserted can own what’s left.
I’ll duck my address once I break the hell out!
I helped myself out, why reach back? –
this wealth wasn’t given to me!
My path is a stealth route, don’t try to sneak facts –
what I’ve beheld is specific to me…
No one else can live this but me! – I am a sellout.
I have an identity –
but I find fads and fashions to be of more interest.
I have mindless tendencies –
I ride bandwagon tours with splintered depth.
I have no center left – I adapt my plight to monitors.
If slomming took off –
my leech fetish would be the freshest and flyest.
Honestly, I’d saw my foot off
if feet became less stylish…
If it’s next, I’ve already tried it – I am a blind follower.
I grasp the superficial in the same vein –
I’ve latched on to the wind.
Fueled by visceral fixes to escape my pain,
I’m attached like thorns to glitz.
Even though I can’t afford the risk – I crave ethereal things.
To keep up with the Jones’,
money’s an object of matchless decadence.
Teamed up with my jones sense,
the depth of debt is a craft I’m special in…
I’m Madonna in classic S&M – I am a slave to material things.
I’m insane in the syringe game –
I’m unchanged by the different strains of pot and aromas of indo.
I’m enslaved in the membrane –
I’ve got a strange case of Stockholm syndrome.
Cocaine clogged in the nose is my M.O. – killing myself is the static charge.
When it comes to aligning reality –
I’m an inebriated escape artist.
My drug dabbling defies gravity –
Abbreviated veins punctuate my arms and wrists…
Relieved by the flames of darkness – I am a pharma-assisted addict farmed.
I could benefit from a prison break –
but I’m accustomed to the accommodations.
I’m used to syringes and prison rapes –
I’ve adjusted to subconscious complacence.
I can’t function beyond its cadence – I’m a mentally brutalized integer.
I’ll likely go when released, but I’ll return –
my environment must love me.
With an I.P.O. to greet me, I’ll be worked –
my retirement fund is the government’s keep…
I admire freedom begrudgingly – I am an institutionalized prisoner.
The base found upon my grounds
is what revolves ‘round the previously mentioned.
I’m preyed upon and renowned by hounds –
they’ve evolved to sniff out my meager existence.
My weakness is the premise – it’s often flaunted doggedly as a shammed shame.
I’m more than what I see in myself –
others don’t want me to achieve my potential.
I was born with an innate degree of wealth –
others don’t want me to seek higher credentials…
They deny my essentials – I am the target of darkly marketed campaigns.
This is what this generation faces.
This is what they denigrate with veneration.
This is degenerate disintegration – it’s happening right before us!
Fearing our own strength has corrosive motives.
It’s shown when we disown, turn over or overthrow it…
We’re worst when we won’t grow our own components –
this tragic plight is enormous.
If I steer someone else astray within my same race,
Then I fear the sum of myself in displaced angst.
Restraining reins flay slated gains when we trade traits for grandstands.
Whether exchanged for rank or afraid of the stakes,
We put to shame the grace that makes no mistakes …
Don’t be afraid of your face – exclaim I am that I AM!
INK WELL SPOKEN
“Endowing WORTH with the POWER of Words” ™
