Folks sometimes ask me why i write & i reply well let me break it down for you.

if writing became illegal i’d still beat my words through ball point pens onto blue lines like great grampas beat bome bawm rhythms on outlaw drums, if need be, i’d keep it clandestine & at night time cause poems onto your sleeping eyelids commit poetic crimes and be a security breach keeping my notebook beyond the grasp of human reach, my lines will postulate mysterious messages be making them tap like heartbeats on the souls of shoes keeping my verses like morse code mixed with blue singing secret songs of a hip hop tunes, i heard whispers i might not be true to this cause i got a paycheck for doing this, motha fuckas aint never walked a mile in my shoes so they don’t know what its like to converse with the omen souls of raven birds in midnight, never more will i ignore the sounds that tell me that i was born to write, my first responsibility is to let my cage words take flight & not believe the hype that what i say don’t make a difference stop falling for the false state, stop acting like your thoughts, words and deeds dont carry real weight in the universe, vibrations don’t call you with a date, don’t wait for you to be ready before they take effect, realize you create your own fate and you walk yourself to heaven’s gate, i never wait for my destiny, it’s something i make, see I’m gettin older, so i got less time to act like i got time to spare. Not a wheels so i remain entire, refuse to roll through life with no aim and not inspire to a higher goal of inspiring those around me, this is not a job or an occupation its a vocation, its a calling and im replying the most top placed this road ahead of me and i got to walk it and maybe one day i’ll share this path with the man who loves me cause im complicated and abstinent but never complying i ain’t waiting till i exhale my last breathe before realizing my dreams stayed recessive, never dominant time waits for no man so id be the one running fast and never running out of it, never buying it this might not make complete sense to you but fuck it somedays i feel geometric so my poems go off on tantrums my soul always flies but my heart and feet remain firmly planted staying like magnets to the earth attracted to the place that made me the earth that i cant get to it i want to if i dont know where im from i cant get to it i want to if dont know where im from so im back at the beggining of this poem its 2:00 a.m im picking up my pen, im writing again, im living again, im *inhale* breathing again.