ELI

“L.U.S.T” (Lost Under Satans’ Trap)  (cowriter: Vicki T) Differing shades  Some matte  Some bold  Variations of tones Hues  A palette of stories untold  But why so mysterious? Well shrouded in green Consumed with envy  Tainted jealousy  Bound tightly with greed  She lusts Blue faces  Ebbed depression A momentary lapse of the veil  Melancholy with a key  A twisted self-centered jail  Indignation  Aggrieved with fury  Is this all just a ruse? Or the consequence of sufferance  Slight For choosing the shade rouge?  Still she lusts  Cautious by nature Critical by privilege  Demanding of focus And yet so dismissive  Meticulous kind of cunning Steadfast and holding  A facade of possessiveness  Reflecting hues of tawny-golden ...

I was chasing love in everything wrong. Drunk off of jack, Trying to get some women home. Stuck living for them nights out, Just to come back alone. Stopped trusting God, and now i see where I’m wrong. Took my faith and put it in friends. “Ayo, throw me that oop, i won’t miss it again.” Seeing women as nothing but bets and chances. Never taking the chance of ever settling down. Why’d i have to give away my purity? Was scared this summer, i almost had a kid. Woke up in cold sweats because that wasn’t how i planned it. Told her she gotta get an abortion, i didn’t understand it. What was i saying? Looking back, it Broke my heart that i would even make a suggestion so frantic. All these bad decisions. All from chasing love the wrong way. All from losing faith in God, rushing to do my own thing. All from falling for temptation, giving away my purity, eating what was forbidden, realizing my nakedness. All from forgetting the bas...

When niggas “holla” at you it’s a stretch. I know you’re tired of niggas always breaking necks, and staring hard, and speaking rude to you. I can see it in your face you’re not amused with them. You got your own shit, and you’re badd too. That’s the reason most these niggas can’t have you. That’s the reason that I’m writing this letter, with hopes that you might read it and see that I’m better; giving you way more pleasure, with way less effort. Off of poetry. Hoping that you notice me. Got you smiling to yourself, You don’t need no one else. You just let the bullshit blow right by. I see you rolling your eyes whenever they try. So unamused with that line “what’s your name? What’s your sign?” As soon as he grab that wine, I’ll just creep up from behind. And slide this paper to you with this letter written inside, And leave it up to you to reply… No pressure,

When drinks won’t do.   And the world gets mean.   When the pain is brand new.   And the wound is too clean.   Shoot me with morphine.   Let it run through my veins.   Let me rest in peace. Let me feel no pain.   For however long that works. For as long as it may ease.   the pain, when the world throws stones.   May I never feel a thing.  

Poetic. From the where the dreams flow.                             You left me like they always do. I start falling then they always go. I’m a sucker, you can call me that. I’m glad I wasn’t stupid and went and got that tat. I would’ve looked real fucking dumb. A broken heart sitting inside my arm. Never to be reconnected. How Poetic. All the words I left unsaid. From all the texts you left unread. I poured my heart out, you just fucked with me.  Guess I wasn’t a part of your luxury . Your mind was still so immature. Our  first time I thought that I was yours. I told my homies we was something more. And then you fucking slammed the fuckin door; Right in my face. Poetic . Why do I like hood women? Why do I put labels on em? Why can’t they all be good women? ...

you can smell the money. the aroma is tempting. I know the power she possesses; Mastering the world, she has a hold on us. On me. very conniving, money. Masterful in the art of stealing our hearts. From what matters if we let it. Causing rifts in relationships, And breaks in the bank. she knows we need her. she plays right with our feelings. Slipping through some of our fingers, We can never keep a tight grip. because of her, some become addicts. Addicted to her lavishness. Addicted to the smell of her, Feel of her, look of her; Especially when her faces are blue. Kids that never seen a lot of her, Coming off the porch trying to get a glimpse. Holding hundreds, over excited. Parents saying “get in this house, its past dark. if you value your life.” But money make them wait there; On that block. She’s got a chokehold on them boys. Tight fist, hard hearts. “You’re gonna Let the money kill you, like it killed yo...

You can see the tears in his eyes, and his momma probably cryin’. He just wanna stay alive but, Black boys die to often where he resides. Streets marked up with chalk. No hopscotch. Bodies sprawled out on the cement. Out to dry. He witnessed it with his young eyes. He watched his cousin die, He held his brother in his arms as his soul was headed to the sky. Our black boys are witnesses. To killer cops, or black boys that say it’s nothing personal, “it’s strictly for the business” The hood doesn’t love you back. But shit, neither does America, when you’re black. So where are our kids safe at? Has anybody found our girls? (That’s a question for another poem...) You can see the tears in his eyes. And if his daddy is around he probably cryin. But I highly doubt it cause he lying. Said he wanna come and see him but ain’t even tryin’. Just like a nigga. Always “trying”, Never doing. Excuse my language, But, keep ...

 Give me your love. I need all of you. I need the bits and pieces. I need the parts of you that he tore apart. I need the shadows and figments of your imagination. I need the real story. My pen ain’t been workin lately. Unless you cross my mind. And tonight, after work, my lady. Thoughts of you wouldn’t even let me drive. Give me all of your love. Give me every ounce of you that he drained. Give me every second he wasted of your life. Let me break all of the mental pictures of him you have framed. My love; My pen has not been workin lately. But tonight, you just so happen to cross my mind. So, I went and brought a new pack; Just so I can share these words with you this time…

To my future wife: I find pleasure in seeing you love yourself. So it is not your sex that pulls me in. It is the way you take negativity said about you, And flip that so in the end, You always win. As I am writing this my mind is turning. Thinking about you. My body is yearning, To hold you. I long To get to know more of you. I know that God is proud – At how you turned out. How you reflect his creativity oh so beautifully. You are just perfect enough to make an atheist believe. You speak so eloquently, And stand so poised. I know that God is proud – He made you with so much confidence. I hope Im not oversaturating you. These poems, they feel like destiny, or miracles. I feel it in my veins and I just want to release. so God told me “write away” and right away, I decided to let you know how I feel. In this poem, Hoping that one day you’ll read it and want to Ride away…

When they killed Shawn, I felt that pain in my heart. When they killed Rashaad, I felt them tears bout to start. When they killed my cousin Emmitt I bout broke down; Seen him lying in that casket, he ain’t make a sound. All my brothers wanted to do is be successful, But couldn’t make it off the block, that shit was stressful. Enemies had lists, they had to check em. I used to text his phone like every month just to check him. “Ay cousin what you up to? Too busy flexing?” He told me that his music about to take off, And I believed it cause his music was that heat. Now I got too many tee shirts hanging, saying Rest in Peace ...   I’ve been tryna fill this void up. Drinking henny and bout anything to get me torn up. My homie says, “you good E?” I told him pour it up. Off the Jack honey, jack & coke, and we are acting up. Tryna forget all of the pain this world put us through. Tryna remember all the good things from our youth. My...