DOPE: "I’m a Hip Hop Cheerleader" by Jessica Care Moore

I’m a Hip Hop Cheerleader

I’m a hip hop cheerleader
carrying hand grenades
and blood red pom poms
screaming from the sidelines of a stage
I built
afraid to part down the middle
for feminine riddles
raining words of proverbs
of prophets who never get heard
because the microphone is just another phallic symbol
that allows jack to be nimble
jack to be quick
leaving jill with a man who can’t climb
a hill and a bucket of spit
she can’t drink or find her reflection inside

she hides

inside crooked eyes of amber
allows her life to be slandered
if hip hop is conscious
we must change the standard
my womb - mate’s been slandered
I planned her arrival
of letters and lyrics never sent to those lovers
who claim that they know her
but still blow her off as a flunky
not a microphone junkie
fiending for a quick fix
not fast cars & hoe tricks
her mouth matrix is taped
hooked on phonics escaped
left her language for rape
so she ate her words
and became an instant interlude
a cute break between the music
when she was an electric lady
a black flower rhyme scheme romantic
a breathe and release tantric with five tongues
and no one
understood why her flow was so fast
asked to slow down
hesitate - never last

to the finish I’m gonna win this
all the dj’s gon’ spin it
when you’re a woman
sometimes all you have is a minute

I’m a hip hop cheerleader
I buy all your records
despite the misogyny
not looking for the blond in me
respond to me
I feel molested hip hop fondled me
I know the conscious brothas follow me
hollow me with half breaths
real emcees don’t half step
but I never slept
took my poems and made food
put my babies in school
taught me
to wait for no one
never turn my back from the sun
of man
I know all my fly mommas understand
got the rifle on my back
with a mic in my hand
I’ll be your tubman compass
so we can map out this land
I’ll be the air that you breathe
I’ll be your number one fan
I’ll scream the HAY’s
I’ll tolerate all your hoes
I’m a hip hop cheerleader

there she go
there she goes

self love freed me
despite all your rhymes with bitches
I know you need me
complete thee believe me
I see you growing In me
looking out from belly
your rhyme schemes are telling
sang those lullabies to nelly
close to my edge like melle
doing cartwheels and air splits
u stage diving into white chics
when I got your hair pic
your weapon of choice
I chose my voice
cause I only gotta quarter left
on this microphone meter
I got on a short pleated skirt
I’m a hip hop cheerleader
there she go
there she goes...

DOPE: "P.O.W." by Alicia Keys

This is not a "Roses are red..." type poem, it is one deeply felt and passionately conveyed. What more can you expect from Alicia Keys?



I'm a prisoner
Of words unsaid
Just lonely feelings
Locked away in my head
I trap myself further
Every time I stay quiet
I should start to speak
But I stop and stay silent
And now I've made
My own hard bed
Inside a prison of words unsaid

I am a P.O.W.
Not a prisoner of war
A prisoner of words
Like a soldier
I'm a fighter
Yet only a puppet
Mostly I only say
What you wanna hear
Could you take it if I came clear?
Or would you rather see me
Stoned on a drug of complacency and compromise
M.I.A.
I guess that's what I am
Scraping this cold earth
For a piece of myself
For peace in myself

It'd be easier if you put me in jail
If you locked me away
I'd have someone to blame
But these bars of steel are of my making
They surround my mind
And have me shaking
My hands are cuffed behind my back
I'm a prisoner of the worst kind, in fact
A prisoner of compromise
A prisoner of compassion
A prisoner of kindness
A prisoner of expectation
A prisoner of my youth
Run too fast to be old
I've forgotten what I was told
Ain't I a sight to behold?

A prisoner of age dying to be young
To my head is my hand with a gun
And it's cold and it's hard
Cause there's nowhere to run
When you've caged youself
By holding your tongue

I'm a prisoner
Of words unsaid
Just lonely feelings
Locked away in my head
It's like solitary confinement
Every time I stay quiet
I should start to speak
But I stop and stay silent
And now I've made
My own hard bed
Inside a prison of words unsaid

DOPE: "We Know This Place" by Sunni Patterson

This poem is one that you must give your undivided attention to, so listen when you have the chance to and I promise you... you will be taken on a journey: one that begins in New Orleans and branches forward through time, through circumstance, through worlds!!



So we know this place,
for we have glanced more times than we’d like to share
into eyes that stare with nothing there
behind them but an unfulfilled wish
and an unconscious yearning for life
though death rests comfortably beside us.
At night their moans are louder.
They come to visit the guards at the gate,
and they stay until morning
torturing their guilt-ridden insides.
The silent cries of the keepers are louder
than the booms that come from the guns
they use to occupy the space.

And we know this place,
for we have seen more times than we’d like to imagine
bloated cadavers floating through waters of a city gone savage,
foraging the land for what can be salvaged.
But what can be saved when all is lost?
It happened in August, twenty-nine days in.
We are now five days out of the only place
we knew to call house and home.
Few things are certain:
one, we have no food;
two, there are more bodies lying at the roadside
than hot plates being distributed
or first aid being administered
or recognition as a citizen.
Fourteenth Amendment, X, refugee, check.

And we know this place.
It’s ever-changing yet forever the same:
Money and power and greed, the game.
They suck and devour the souls of the slain.
What a feast for the beast at their table of shame
with napkins around necks that catch the blood that drains
from the flesh they chew, it’s hailed again.

And we know this place, all too well,
dank with the smell of death and doom.
It hovers, it smothers, no growth, no room,
no pretty, no please, just grey, just gloom,
just burned me of hope, and it died too soon,
just juckin’, just jiving, just living, we just fools.

And we know this place. It’s decked in all its array and splendor,
golden streets with good intentions
capture our attention, gadgets and inventions
pesticide the food supply, flu-like symptoms,
diabetic condition, a cancer in the system,
held on hold, it’s a pistol to the temple.
Go run to the churches, tell reverend it’s simple.
Good works and good deeds is what equals redemption,
but tell me, please, Jesus never mentioned,
how do churchmen get extensions on freedom,
while children are being fondled
from the altar to the streets, then back to the sanctuaries?
It’s kind of scary, ain’t it?
to know that both the prophet and the priest practice deceit,
then come to the people and claim peace, peace,
come to the people and claim love, love.
But where is the peace, huh?
Where is the love?
Where that balm in Gilead
that can heal the wounded soul
or make the half-man whole?

I swear, we know this place,
because we have vowed before never again to return,
but here we are, back in the desert,
dry mouth and thirsting for waters from Heaven.
But come, come, children, rally around,
and maybe together we can make a sound
that will shake the trees or rattle the ground,
make strong our knees,
we’s freedom bound.

And we know this place.
Reclaim the crown.
Hold onto the prize,
never put it down.
Be firm in the stance,
no break, no bow,
got to forward on, Mama,
make your move now. Forward on, Papa,
make your move now.
Forward, dear children,
’cuz freedom is now.

To learn more about the amazing poet, Sunni Patterson, please visit her website at http://www.sunnipatterson.com/

DOPE: "Motives and Thoughts" by Lauryn Hill

This poem is powerful, y'all. When reading the words, I can't help but wonder if this poem became the song, "Mystery of Iniquity".



Rotating bodies, confusion of sound
Negative imagery, holding us down
Social delusion, clearly constructed
Human condition, morals corrupted
Trapped in reaction, lawlessness war
Dissatisfaction from bowels to core
Devil’s technology, strategy for
Human mythologies, urban folklore
Sick of psychology, counterfeit cure
Wicked theology, robbing the poor
Scheme demonology mislead the pure
Strictly strategically studying war
Light shown in darkness, image exposed
Few can see through the new emperor’s clothes
Lustful this hustle turn humans to hoes
When the blind lead the blind
Just more trouble and woes
It’s the mind that they chose
Its designed to stay closed
Standard of jokers, court just a logic
Sick looking cosmics, from schoolyards to college
Primitive man with civilize knowledge
System collapse and he still won’t acknowledge
God is the saviour, studies behavior
Trying to fix the mix mind that he gave ya
Stiff-necked scholars on prescription meds
Wishing their problems were all in their heads
Morale dilemma, pride is the root
Misguided from youth, heart divided from truth
Egyptians and Grecians, spiritually dead
Imperially led, by the gods in their heads
Motives and thoughts
Industrial wealth
Global economy, in it for self
Heart full of madness, covered with kind
Pleasure designed to take over your mind
Furnished in godliness, painted in good
This tainted priesthood got real saints misunderstood
While classes in government, set up the veil
And cultivate minds for more mythical tales
Typical Hollywood follies good girl
While vice and corruption take over the world
Motives and thoughts
Check your motives and thoughts
Blind with the wickedness, deep in your heart
Modern day wickedness is all you’ve been taught
Lied to your neighbors, so you get ahead
Modern day trickery is all you’ve been fed
Motives and thoughts
Check your motives and thoughts

DOPE: "No Assistance" from "For Colored Girls..." by Ntozake Shange

without any assistance or guidance from you
i have loved you assiduously for 8 months 2 wks & a day
i have been stood up four times
i've left 7 packages on yr doorstep
forty poems 2 plants & 3 handmade notecards i left
town so i cd send to you

you have been no help to me
on my job
you call at 3:00 in the mornin on weekdays
so i cd drive 27 1/2 miles cross the bay before i go to work
charmin charmin
but you are of no assistance

i want you to know
this waz an experiment
to see how selfish i cd be
if i wd really carry on to snare a possible lover
if i waz capable of debasin my self for the love of another
if i cd stand not being wanted
when i wanted to be wanted
& i cannot
so
with no further assistance & no guidance from you
i am endin this affair

this note is attached to a plant
i've been watering since the day i met you
you may water it
yr damn self

From "for colored girls who have considered suicide/when the rainbow is enuf"
- Ntozake Shange

DOPE: "Sky Ain't a Ceiling" by Jill Scott

This is simply put: beautiful!



You say life's been hard on you.
Well brother I got news; it's hard on me too.
We seem to face the same old issues.
Some are just surface, some are deep some deep down in the tissue.
And I know slavery has played its part, word.
Being separated and subjugated and that passes to the brain of a child
So I want to step off what was, and and start with the right now
You say "the world just don't understand"
But I ain't the world my love, I'm your woman.
And I know how deep it really goes
Trying to tread on a dream when the water feels low.
Ohh, if our ancestors could walk, barefoot, afraid in the dark, for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles and miles and miles
I know we can do this, come on let's start.

DOPE: "Last Night" by Saul Williams

Many things, even poems, aren't always what they seem. Take this poem by Saul Williams, as seen on the (HORRIBLY missed by me!) television program, "Girlfriends". What may sound like a romantic and seductive poem on the surface is actually a poem about the rampant spread of HIV and AIDs in the continent of Africa.



In honor of National Women and Girls’ HIV/AIDS Awareness Day and of course, Rock the Red Pump™ Day, this week's poem with strong imagery and a very powerful message. I dedicate this to the Women and Children affected by HIV and AIDs in Africa, the U.S. and the entire world. Remember that Awareness is the key, so get tested. Click here to find local HIV/STD Testing sites in your area.



Last Night

Last night I laid within your continent
Sought salvation from frustration
with in your loving nation
found the true meaning of homeland
when you let me inland
Swahili tongue knew I hadn’t been there before
kissed for me to stay awhile
I did you one better and stayed forever, in your country
Then you let me tap your virgin drum
releasing echoes of me being free
Free to run through your countryside
touching jasmine, dropping weed
Free to nibble on your Nigeria
Blow on your Botswana
Eat your Opia til there is no more Opia left
Won’t be any leftovers when I’m done
Won’t be anything when I’m done
Just remembrance of that night when I laid within your continent
seeking salvation from frustration within your loving nation
and that’s all we’ll have
That, and a few thousand orphans to read this poem

DOPE: "Fans, Friends, & Artists Must Meet.." by Erykah Badu

Friends, fans, artists must meet
Which 1 are you? Which 1 is me?
Friends, fans, and artists must meet
Which 1 are you? Which 1 are me

FANS

"God, please oh please let her breathe my way
If she sing my song today I can be ok
See I understand the message in the song she write
I was really happy for her when she won tonight

She a rebel for the struggle fightin just like me
I know she down to sing at the cookout, free
I was kinda dissappointed with the song she wrote
Went to her website wrote a long ass note

She done made a million dollars but she down to earth
She be rockin chuck taylors and a thrift sto' purse
Signin autographs til the park was dark
I know it's kinda hard when they luv ya art

In the magazines they be twistin up the facts
But her response was fair I like how she come back
She be sangin for the world sharin' all her pain
When she fell up in the game she had changed"

Fans, friends, and artists must meet
Which 1 are you? Which 1 are me?

FRIENDS

"Folk in the face like she aint da same
Still da same b**** she just changed her name
She don't really like to hang around with us no mo'
Wasn't nothin' like that back in '94

She be fallin in the spot with a fat ass grin
Now she roll a benz she don't need no friends
She only really made it cause her skin is light
Don't nobody really understand that s*** she write

She done made a million dollars she can give us some
She be havin fun... s***, we wanna have fun
Seen her early in the morning looking bad as hell
Gonna be lookin' really funny when her s*** dont sell

Airport, bouta miss a flight
4 carry-ons talkin bout "pack light"
Oooh please, oh please... give the queen her tea
I only come to the show 'cause  I get in free"

Friends, fans and artist must meet
Which 1 are you? Which 1 are me?
Fans, friends, n artist must meet
Which 1 are you?

ARTIST

"Folk in my face 'cuz I'mma supastar
N****s hang around cuz of who I are
Get alotta love cuz of what I got
Say they happy for me, but they really not

Sell alotta records and I roll a benz
Fall up in the spot now I'm losin friends
All I wanna do is give the world my heart
Record label trynna make me compromise my art

Make a million dollars, make a million mo'
Tax time come 'round still a n***a po'
I wanna say "Wait...", but I'm scared to ask
The world start spinnin and it's movin fast

Try to stay sane it's the price of fame
Spendin my life trynna numb the pain
I shake that load off and sing my song
Liberate the minds and I go on home
Peace."

DOPE: "Hands" by Sarah Kay

People used to tell me that I had beautiful hands.
Told me so often in fact, that one day I started to believe them,
until I asked my photographer father,
'Hey daddy could I be a hand model?',
To which he said 'no way'.
I don't remember the reason he gave me, and I would've been upset but there were far too many stuffed animals to hold, too many homework assignments to write, too many boys to wave at, too many years to grow.
We used to have a game, my dad and I, about holding hands.
Cause we held hands everywhere.
And every time either he or I would whisper a great big number to the other, pretending that we were keeping track of how many times we had held hands.
That we were sure this one had to be 8,207,053.
Hands learn more then minds do.
Hands learn to hold other hands.
How to grip pencils and mould poetry.
How to tickle piano keys, dribble basketballs and grip the handles of a bicycle.
How to hold old people and touch babies.
I love hands like I love people.
They are the maps and compasses with which we navigate our way through life.
Some people read palms to tell you your future, but I read hands to tell your past.
Each scar marks a story worth telling.
Each callused palm each cracked knuckle a missed punch or years working in a factory.
Now I've seen middle eastern hands clenched in middle eastern fists, pounding against each other like each country sees their fists like warriors and others enemies.
Even if fists alone are only hands.
But this is not about politics, no hands are not about politics.
This is a poem about love, and fingers.
Fingers interlock like a beautiful zipper of prayer.
One time I grabbed my dad's hand so that our fingers interlocked perfectly.
But he changed position saying "No, that hand hold is for your Mom!".
Kids high-five, but grown ups shake hands.
You need a firm handshake,
But don't hold on too tight,
But don't let go too soon,
But don't hold on for too long.
Hands are not about politics.
When did it become so complicated? I always thought it was so simple.
The other day, my Dad looked at my hands as if seeing them for the first time
And with laughter behind his eyelids, and with all the seriousness a man of his humour could muster he said,
"You know, you've got nice hands, you could've been a hand model!".
And before the laughter could escape me,
I shake my head at him, and squeeze his hand.
8,207,054.

DOPE: "What Teachers Make" by Taylor Mali

I wish I had a teacher like Taylor Mali when I was a kid, man!! This is dedicated to all the teachers out there who actually care... Lord knows that they don't pay you enough, but thank you for doing all you can to educate our children so that our world doesn't become like the one in "Idiocracy".



What Teachers Make, or
Objection Overruled, or
If things don't work out, you can always go to law school
By Taylor Mali
www.taylormali.com

He says the problem with teachers is, "What's a kid going to learn
from someone who decided his best option in life was to become a teacher?"
He reminds the other dinner guests that it's true what they say about
teachers:
Those who can, do; those who can't, teach.

I decide to bite my tongue instead of his
and resist the temptation to remind the other dinner guests
that it's also true what they say about lawyers.

Because we're eating, after all, and this is polite company.

"I mean, you¹re a teacher, Taylor," he says.
"Be honest. What do you make?"

And I wish he hadn't done that
(asked me to be honest)
because, you see, I have a policy
about honesty and ass-kicking:
if you ask for it, I have to let you have it.

You want to know what I make?

I make kids work harder than they ever thought they could.
I can make a C+ feel like a Congressional medal of honor
and an A- feel like a slap in the face.
How dare you waste my time with anything less than your very best.

I make kids sit through 40 minutes of study hall
in absolute silence. No, you may not work in groups.
No, you may not ask a question.
Why won't I let you get a drink of water?
Because you're not thirsty, you're bored, that's why.

I make parents tremble in fear when I call home:
I hope I haven't called at a bad time,
I just wanted to talk to you about something Billy said today.
Billy said, "Leave the kid alone. I still cry sometimes, don't you?"
And it was the noblest act of courage I have ever seen.

I make parents see their children for who they are
and what they can be.

You want to know what I make?

I make kids wonder,
I make them question.
I make them criticize.
I make them apologize and mean it.
I make them write, write, write.
And then I make them read.
I make them spell definitely beautiful, definitely beautiful, definitely
beautiful
over and over and over again until they will never misspell
either one of those words again.
I make them show all their work in math.
And hide it on their final drafts in English.
I make them understand that if you got this (brains)
then you follow this (heart) and if someone ever tries to judge you
by what you make, you give them this (the finger).

Let me break it down for you, so you know what I say is true:
I make a goddamn difference! What about you?

DOPE: "Apology to My Unborn" by Bassey Ikpi

This poem really resonated for me. I haven't been blessed with motherhood yet, but I am really looking forward being a Mom one day. I am equally excited and frightened about the experience, and I can relate to the way Bassey Ikpi articulates this in her poem.





Apology to My Unborn
by Bassey Ikpi

I fear that you will never sleep
That like these fingers long and too thin
To hold rings and commitments
You will inherit your mother’s insomnia
Her restless spirit

Child, I wish I could quiet all your questions
Tell you the exact number of stars
Show you where the moon goes at sunrise
I wish I could temper your fear of good byes
Prove that the earth spins regardless of whether or not you are awake to see it
I wish I could give you one morning worth rising for

I pray that you can close your eyes
See the world through the only thing I have fit to pass down to you
This heart of a dreamer
But I want you stronger sooner
Want you kind and brave
Want you unafraid to fight
For what you believe and need
Want you beautiful and free
I want you nothing like your mother
This girl trembling before each new day
Frightened of herself love
This girl who finds the word ‘woman’ a cloak too heavy to don
Most days
You deserve someone who carries the moniker like banner
Wears it easy like sun in summer

But, child, what can I tell you of peace
When you were probably conceived in a cacophony of questions
Still I think of you as possible
Can almost smell the breath of god light against you skin
Can hear you, softness, eyes closed laughing
Real as the beating staccato against my chest
But future, I fear if I
Cling too fiercely to your unconditional
That I will bruise you
Because I can not hold my breath long enough to shrug off these imperfections
I wonder, if they will make me too nervous to nurse you
Leave me unable to find a place where just loving you is enough
Child I will begin counting those same stars

And in dreams these arms will hold you
Whisper you soft into a still slumber
These hands, small and strong, like your grandmother
Will build for you a world of colored things
Will pray, palms towards the heaven, for a quiet
Without the tumble and chaos of
Words and worry
Child I pray that you know
That though feared, you are wanted
Know how you’ve lived lifetimes in this hollow expansion of breath
Know how easy you’ll fit
In my spaces
Need you to know this now before time and distances help me
To forget to tell you often enough
I hope that we will not be too much like shadow and brick
Voices thrown against walls
These hands are tired of building
And child I hope you will forgive my quiet
Those moments when I just can’t find the words to speak
I hope my silences don’t scare you
Won’t have you questioning your worth
Have you turning towards friends and strangers for comfort
I want you to like me
To know me
To know that there are moments when I will wrestle with moments
That shade my best intentions

Moments like now
Your mother
Lays awake
Watching, yet, another morning from the wrong side
Practicing slow this breathing that will usher you one day into this world
Here, I can, almost conjure up a proper image of you
I still fear that you will never know peace
But I already know I need your laughter
Need the gentle curve of your fingers
Need your eyes locked on mine
Need you here now for balance

But my future,
I will deny you your right to exist
Before I pass on this
Cracked soul of a storyteller
You deserve more than
Yhis threat of me as your mother
Still attempting my own world of colored things

So child, just promise me that you will be, eventually
I need your possibility
Like I need a night worth sleeping for



To check out more from Bassey Ikpi,check out her FaceBook Fan Page by clicking here: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Bassey-Ikpi-Fan-Page/37219645379

DOPE: "She Said that She Would Prefer a Broken Neck.." by Amir Sulaiman

This poem for real... gave me chills!!!





Written by Amir Sulaiman

She said that she would prefer a broken neck to another broken heart.
I said "Remember, even the beauty of birth leaves its own scars
And know that you will find your home right where you are."

She said, "I know it sounds cliche, but I really am just waiting to exhale."
She's not looking for a perfect man, she ain't holding out for Denzel
She's just looking for a real man,
But she said "Most of the realest were in graves or in jail"
Just an upright brother, but she's left with low down brothers, homo thugs, and downlow brothers.

And it took her some time with herself to discover
That having love is even more important than having a lover
But what am I supposed to tell her?
That it's going to be okay? But it may not be.
It may be hard and ugly,
Difficult, complicated, rough and bloody
And I said, "So many women are struggling"

She said, "Yeah, I'd like a man to kiss me, I'd like a man to hug me
But he's gotta truly love love before he can truly love me"
I said, "I feel you." She said, "No, you're not feeling me.
We are women bringing up seeds,
Our own sons grow up thinking love is a disease
Ducking and dodging real relationships, and just gonna take what they please
And they treat pregnancy like it's an STD
If the test comes back positive, it's a negative
And they are ghost in the streets,
Drunk in the wind, only a moment is spent and those moments are brief
Our sons' role models are rolling stones unknown or deceased
They figure we can't teach them manhood, so they'll get grown in the streets
So in the cold world they find warmth with the men holding the heat."

I said "There's gotta be a change."
She said, "Yeah, it's gotta be more than poems on TV"
I said, "I feel you." She asked me how I survive.
I said, "By Allah, it was my mother otherwise
I would have been dead, crazy, institutionalized."

"She kept us in the good neighborhoods, even though she couldn't keep on the lights
So we could go to the best schools learning to read and to write.
Sometimes we'd be so broke, in the store, she'd have to pick between the beans and the rice.
Sometimes she'd put ketchup on a navy bean so it wouldn't seem like we're eating the same thing every night.
Two jobs during the day, and one at night.
And the stuff I saw her endure, I never wanna see my wife [endure]
So I know being a man is more than being male, and I'm focused on doing it right."

"But when I think about my childhood, I don't think about poverty
I remember how she hugged me, kissed me, taught me, loved me.
And I know you prefer a broken neck to another broken heart
Broken parts that litter the night sky like stars.
But remember, even the beauty of birth leaves its own scars
And know that you will find your home, right where you are
We will find our homes right where we are."

DOPE: "Barbie and Ken 101" Rafael Casal

This poem sho nuff gave me the vapor's y'all! Enjoy!!





Barbie And Ken 101
Poem by Rafael Casal

sometimes I feel like I'm sittin' in the back row of Barbie and Ken 101
a class we are all in, but never seem to learn from
Some general ed requirement for
Students of American culture
One that convinces even the brightest
of young women that sex is survival of the thinnest
and I'm sick of this education that doesn't serve our best interests
my teacher has no face
she is every Revelon model women have ever chased
her lectures come through magazines in beauty shops & add campaigns,
shit
just turn on your tv
this just in, a skewed perspective for todays youth y'all ladies aint thin enough, fellas aint trim
enough, wanna be sexy?
Y'all don't go to the gym enough, cut to commercial, come on just come tune
in to our maintenance team, convince you're ugly then tell you how to fix it with maybelline
Perpetually started by these dolls marketed in the late 50's named
Barbie and Ken
hence the
class I'm in
Are you following?
Shit didn't end
They keep moldin' Barbie to fit new trends
next maybe they'll have club hoppin' Barbie
With thongs as accessories
video hoe Barbie
abusive boyfriend sold separately
underaged Barbie
Kobe Bryant included
or 9/11 victim Barbie
and Ken is proud to get recruited
problem is all these teachings are woman's decay
and I'm startin' to worry cuz my girl is up front and she's getting an A
this is where I start getting pissed off ok
when the f**k did it become all about
tuckin' in the gut I gotta get the bigger breast
shit I wanna fit a little better in a dress
so let me get a little skinny gotta fit into an itty bitty
size slimmer so I livin up the chest
please
teacher teacher I wanna give my oral presentation
cuz I have a problem with the class, and matter of fact, I have, a fat ass grudge with the
whole administration
you're the reason my girl won't eat in front of me in restaurants

the reason that she thinks she's overweight in over ten spots
less gut less pudge less lunch less real, more looks more love more Barbie
appeal?
f**k Barbie and Ken
My future daughter will never play with them
you're the reason bleedin' 15 year old girls arms are slit
You made 12 year olds think skinny was a compliment
And now it's too late
I can't write my way through this bathroom door
So I raise my hand in class cuz I can't stand it any more
Teacher teacher your lectures all backwards
You got mothers and daughters forgetting what matters
Cuz above tits, ass, lips, legs, and uggs
The most attractive women are the ones who don't give a f**k
So screw your teachings your lessons and plans
You skewed sick distant relative of the man
Your plan for brainwashin' my baby I reject
I'm walkin' out of this class, and I will proudly take, my F

DOPE: "What I Will" by Suheir Hammad

What I Will

I will not
dance to your war
drum. I will
not lend my soul nor
my bones to your war
drum. I will
not dance to your
beating. I know that beat.
It is lifeless. I know
intimately that skin
you are hitting. It
was alive once
hunted stolen
stretched. I will
not dance to your drummed
up war. I will not pop
spin break for you. I
will not hate for you or
even hate you. I will
not kill for you. Especially
I will not die
for you. I will not mourn
the dead with murder nor
suicide. I will not side
with you nor dance to bombs
because everyone else is
dancing. Everyone can be
wrong. Life is a right not
collateral or casual. I
will not forget where
I come from. I
will craft my own drum. Gather my beloved
near and our chanting
will be dancing. Our
humming will be drumming. I
will not be played. I
will not lend my name
nor my rhythm to your
beat. I will dance
and resist and dance and
persist and dance. This heartbeat is louder than
death. Your war drum ain’t
louder than this breath.

Suheir Hammad

DOPE: "My Everything" Liza Garza

I love living in Bed-Stuy, I am a PROUD Brooklyn Geechee. I love my neighborhood the way one loves members of their family: You may not the like the things that they do, but the love is unmistakable.

With love, I share this heart-breaking poem by Liza Garza to the fellas walking the streets (my streets and the streets all over the world), with a gentle urging to remember the women you leave behind. Peace from Brooklyn!





My Everything

they said we'd become victim to the streets
as if the concrete could creep up and catch us
in the midst of walking lift up and grab us
cock back and blast us
backhanded slap us
and we believed em
did everything to create some sort of distance
in between em
the souls of our sneaks and the hot pavement beneath
anything just to bring us a lil closer to heaven
as if 18 inches was the next best thing to ascension
in a life full of question
with answers camouflaged in every look of lust
never knowing who to really trust
so we stay strapped and we stay trapped
cycles full of sin
they trying to sift out our backs
or compromise our integrity
and in every choice there awaits a greater casualty
black Jesus pieces and pinkie rings
over sized white tees
and r.i.p.'s
the streets is calling me
or they might as well be
I'm a single mother raising two sons
who could potentially be toting two guns
in less then five years from where i stand today
and in less then four years my delivery would change in pace
cause I'm trying to catch up with 3 years fast forward in time
when in just two they height will match mine
zoom in focus to my life right now
smack dead in the face to what i write right now
if i could only make the streets seem less sweet
if i could only place a tear at their feet for every victim at least id have the hopes to sway them
with currents that run deep enough
sweep them with stories of misplaced trust
waves of lost love
and seasons that my body wont forget
how every year in late September, October the breeze can blow and
i forced to remember when
i loved him
and i lost him
all i got to give is the sweat off my brow
is the tears when they fall
all i got to give
is my everything, knowing i still could lose my everything.



To check out more from Liza Garza, visit her MySpace page at: http://www.myspace.com/lizagarza/blog

DOPE: "Sometimes Silence Is The Loudest Kind Of Noise" by Bassey Ikpi

This poem by Bassey Ikpi just evokes all of the wonderful moments about being a child: the safety, the excitement, the hopefulness. Enjoy!!!



Sometimes silence is the loudest kind of noise
Like sometimes it was best when
Girls were girls and boys were boys.
Like back when freeze tag was a mating dance.
Like back when "Do Over" meant you got another chance.
Like back when anxiety was worrying if Wonder Woman would make it out alive.
Like back when freedom was sliding backwards on a slide.
Like back when success was jumping off a swing and
Landing on your feet, then
Doing it all over again.
Like new shoes made you run faster.
Like getting Ms. Gross again for math was a disaster.
Like failure was a word we hadn't even learned to spell yet.
Like promises were sealed and kept with pinky bets.
Like a challenge was a double dare.
Like ugly was a cock-eyed stare.

And you liked it...
Like when you flipped your eyelids inside out
To impress that boy across the room,
'Cause that's all it took.
And there was no such thing as too soon,
As long as you checked the right box in that note from across the room,
The one that he...passed her.
Back when, "I don't know, maybe" was a legitimate answer.
Back when, "I need space" meant he needed more elbow room to draw,
So he got on the floor and he colored outside the lines.
Like the lines of color were on the floor,

So we just existed in sandboxes and playgrounds.
And we hop-scotched and dodgeballed
And everything I needed to know, I learned in a shopping mall.
Like don't wander off on your own,
Like know who you are,
Like know where you came from,
Like never let go of your mother's hand no matter what you do,
Like if you get lost, just stand there until someone finds you,
And someone will always look for you
Because someone will always miss you
And someone will always find you
And when you cry, someone will always remind you
In that quiet, quiet lullaby voice,
That sometimes silence is the loudest kind of noise.

DOPE: "a laying on of hands" Ntozake Shange

A Laying on of Hands
from "for colored girls who have considered suicide | when the rainbow is enuf"
by Ntozake Shange

i waz missing somethin
somethin so important
somethin promised
a layin on of hands
fingers near my forehead
strong
cool
movin
makin me whole
sense pure
all the gods comin into me
layin me open to myself
i waz missing somethin
somethin promised
somethin free
a layin on of hands
i know bout/layin on bodies/layin outta man
bringin him alla my fleshy self & some of my pleasure
bein taken full eager wet like i get sometimes
i waz missing somethin
a layin on of hands
not a man
layin on
not my mama/holdin me tight/sayin
i'm laways gonna be her girl
not a layin on of bosom and womb
a layin on of hands
the holiness of myself released

i sat up one nite walkin a boardin house
screamin/cryin/the ghost of another woman
who waz missin what i waz missin
i wanted to jump up outta my bones
& be done wit myself
leave me alone
& go on in the wind
it waz too much
i fell into a numbness
til the only tree i cd see
took me up in her branches
held me in the breeze
made me dawn dew
that chill at daybreak
the sun wrapped me up swingin rose light everywhere
the sky laid over me like a million men
i waz cold/i waz burnin up/a child
& endlessly weavin garments for the moon
wit my tears
i found god in myself
& i loved her/i loved her fiercely

DOPE: "Money" Poetri

I think I am not the only one who can surely relate to my man Poetri! LOL






MONEY
By Poetri

My money has been acting funny, lately
Tripping.
This ain't the first time.
Every now and then, I can expect money to disappear for awhile,
watch me smile when I see her back in my hands.
My money's been acting funny, lately,
and I don't mean ha ha funny.
No, I'm talking strange wierd, different type funny.
This time money's gone all out,
leaving me, showing up and then leaving as quickly as she came,
ignoring me, treating me like a poor man,
What I do boo?
All I ever did was love you!
Maybe too much, cause now it's like we ain't cool no more.
We use to be ro-dogs, inseparable,
but lately my money's been acting funny and I haven't seen money in months.
I have more than a hunch that she's playing me, trying to make me jaelous,
hanging out with other fellas,
always in some other brothers pocket.
I try and tell her that those other guys are just using her.
"They just using you, money!!"
She don't wanna hear me.
She doesn't even return my phone calls.
She won't go to the movies with me.
She won't even go with me to get nothing to eat.
And you know a brother can't eat, without money!
Don't you know I miss you? I want you!
Okay, I need you to survive, my life evolves around you.
I can't replace you money, believe me I've tried.
There's only so much bread and water I can take.
Call me spoiled, but I remember the days when people use to see at the hottest clubs,
the expensive restaurants,
all the high-priced stores. I made sure I looked good with money.
I treated you right! I never abused you...did I?
Money, did I abuse you? Did I love you too much?
Did I get used to you hanging around
and now you're giving me a taste of what it feels like to live without you?
People still think we're tight!
They still ask about you.
I don't like them all in my business, so I just reply, money and I,
aren't as close as we used to be.
My money's been acting funny, lately.
I can't even call out her name when I'm playing ball.
I saw her the other day in Beverly Hills. She didn't even acknowledge me.
She looked at me like "...what are you doing in Beverly Hills?
Ever since money hasn't been around, I feel like I'm losing my other friends, too!
American Express, Visa, Discover, now they starting to act shady.
I think she's spreading lies on me!
I tell you, I don't know what I did, but my money's been acting real funny, lately.
And I don't know her anymore and my life ain't same.
Never will be the same, until money comes back into my life.
So, if you see her, or any of her family,
she has a whole bunch of cousins running around,
let her know that I miss her,
I love her,
and I want her to come home.

DOPE: "What A Woman Must Do" by Ursula Rucker

WHAT A WOMAN MUST DO

Until you walk, run, fight a mile in her shoes
Don1t you dare stand in front of me and tell me
What a woman must do
Until you have walked, run, fought a mile in her shoes
Don't you dare stand in front of me and tell me

What a woman must do
What a woman must do

She must
Swing from chandeliers for undeserving spouses and paramours
Who deny her suffrage by day, but crave and praise her womanly wiles by
night
Good enough to fuck but, not good enough to vote
She must
Go from the beauty of Africa, to the horrors of massa
Go from titties dangling bare and shameless
To being branded, licentious, temptress, embarrassed
Go from land of yams and heat hot
To land of cash crops and sellers block
Go… from God names, to no name, to his names
Go… from God names, to no name, to his names
Now Black
Now inhuman
Freedom stolen, family stolen, now beholden… but still golden
Field hollerin'… and Ain't I A Woman
Ain't I A Woman

I can see her, me
Washing dishes, clothes, and children
Making love, money, dinner, and beds
Always the first one off a sinking ship
But last in the line to receive respect

What
What a
What a woman
What a woman must
What a woman must do
What a woman must do
What a woman must do
Must do
Must do, must do, must do, must do, must do…

She must
Wipe away tears and reclaim strength
After rape, abortion, lover's betrayal, child's birth, child's death,
husband's abuse
Tricking to buy baby shoes
She must
Be called a muse
Which is just a synonym for use
Put upon pedestals
Dainty and protected
And because of that disrespected
Victorianized
Made a paradox of famous anonymity
Left to go insane with too much femininity
Staring at yellow wallpaper

Her heart
Open
Her legs
Open
Warm and welcoming
Waiting… for phone calls that never come
Waiting… for words of appreciation that never come
Waiting… for equal pay that never comes
Waiting

Waiting, waiting, waiting
Waiting, waiting, waiting

Waiting for love
Waiting for acknowledgment not judgment
Waiting

And when seeking or achieving any kind of power
Reduced to labels like…

Concubine. Cunt. Bitch. Whore. Stunt. Witch. Dyke
Concubine. Cunt. Bitch. Whore. Stunt. Witch. Dyke

What
What a
What a woman
What
What a
What a woman must
What a woman must
What a woman must do
What a woman must do

She must
Never settle for less based upon her womaness
Embrace the pronoun and power of SHE
Know if nothing else that her uniqueness is blessed
And a necessary component in the union between universe and people
Equal to man
At times above human understanding
She don't have to lay down for nothing or nobody
Her body in and out a wonder
The wonder of SHE

The wonder of SHE

DOPE: Coded Language - Saul Williams

Whereas, breakbeats have been the missing link connecting the diasporic
community to its drum woven past
Whereas the quantised drum has allowed the whirling mathematicians to
calculate the ever changing distance between rock and stardom.
Whereas the velocity of the spinning vinyl, cross-faded, spun backwards, and
re-released at the same given moment of recorded history , yet at a
different moment in time's continuum has allowed history to catch up with
the present.

We do hereby declare reality unkempt by the changing standards of dialogue.
Statements, such as, "keep it real", especially when punctuating or
anticipating modes of ultra-violence inflicted psychologically or physically
or depicting an unchanging rule of events will hence forth be seen as
retro-active and not representative of the individually determined is.

Furthermore, as determined by the collective consciousness of this state of
being and the lessened distance between thought patterns and their secular
manifestations, the role of men as listening receptacles is to be increased
by a number no less than 70 percent of the current enlisted as vocal
aggressors.

Motherfuckers better realize, now is the time to self-actualize
We have found evidence that hip hops standard 85 rpm when increased by a
number as least half the rate of it's standard or decreased at ¾ of it's
speed may be a determining factor in heightening consciousness.

Studies show that when a given norm is changed in the face of the
unchanging, the remaining contradictions will parallel the truth.

Equate rhyme with reason, Sun with season

Our cyclical relationship to phenomenon has encouraged scholars to erase the
centers of periods, thus symbolizing the non-linear character of cause and
effect
Reject mediocrity!

Your current frequencies of understanding outweigh that which as been given
for you to understand.
The current standard is the equivalent of an adolescent restricted to the
diet of an infant.
The rapidly changing body would acquire dysfunctional and deformative
symptoms and could not properly mature on a diet of apple sauce and crushed
pears
Light years are interchangeable with years of living in darkness.
The role of darkness is not to be seen as, or equated with, Ignorance, but
with the unknown, and the mysteries of the unseen.

Thus, in the name of:
ROBESON, GOD'S SON, HURSTON, AHKENATON, HATHSHEPUT, BLACKFOOT, HELEN,
LENNON, KHALO, KALI, THE THREE MARIAS, TARA, LILITHE, LOURDE, WHITMAN,
BALDWIN, GINSBERG, KAUFMAN, LUMUMBA, GHANDI, GIBRAN, SHABAZZ,
SIDDHARTHA,
MEDUSA, GUEVARA, GUARDSIEFF, RAND, WRIGHT, BANNEKER, TUBMAN, HAMER,
HOLIDAY,
DAVIS, COLTRANE, MORRISON, JOPLIN, DUBOIS, CLARKE, SHAKESPEARE,
RACHMNINOV,
ELLINGTON, CARTER, GAYE, HATHOWAY, HENDRIX, KUTL, DICKERSON, RIPPERTON,
MARY, ISIS, THERESA, PLATH, RUMI, FELLINI, MICHAUX, NOSTRADAMUS, NEFERTITI,
LA ROCK, SHIVA, GANESHA, YEMAJA, OSHUN, OBATALA, OGUN, KENNEDY, KING,
FOUR
LITTLE GIRLS, HIROSHIMA, NAGASAKI, KELLER, BIKO, PERONE, MARLEY, COSBY,
SHAKUR, THOSE STILL AFLAMED, AND THE COUNTLESS UNNAMED

We claim the present as the pre-sent, as the hereafter.
We are unraveling our navels so that we may ingest the sun.
We are not afraid of the darkness, we trust that the moon shall guide us.
We are determining the future at this very moment.
We now know that the heart is the philosophers' stone
Our music is our alchemy
We stand as the manifested equivalent of 3 buckets of water and a hand full
of minerals, thus realizing that those very buckets turned upside down
supply the percussion factor of forever.
If you must count to keep the beat then count.
Find you mantra and awaken your subconscious.
Curve you circles counterclockwise
Use your cipher to decipher, Coded Language, man made laws.
Climb waterfalls and trees, commune with nature, snakes and bees.
Let your children name themselves and claim themselves as the new day for
today we are determined to be the channelers of these changing frequencies
into songs, paintings, writings, dance, drama, photography, carpentry,
crafts, love, and love.
We enlist every instrument: Acoustic, electronic.
Every so-called race, gender, and sexual preference.
Every per-son as beings of sound to acknowledge their responsibility to
uplift the consciousness of the entire fucking World.
Any utterance will be un-aimed, will be disclaimed - two rappers slain
Any utterance will be un-aimed, will be disclaimed - two rappers slain