Self-Imploded… [POEM]

Truth is that
the soundtrack that he lived by,
killed him
filled him with an ambitious idea,
thrilled him
opened him up to that life,
sealed him…

Same song
that the drive by’er drove by to,
is the same song,
his friends cry to
see him as just another reason
to not believe any different
because the truth is this:
you might die too,
whether or not you try to

niggaz gon’ kill niggaz
that’s just what niggaz do
problem is we ain’t niggaz,
that’s why we’re uncomfortable

But not enough to get up
and turn the station
or the channel
or away from the images
that cause the damage
we just lie on the couch,
famished
thirsty for something else,
tired of feeding as we’ve been,
on nothingness
but refusing to do better,
or at least something else

So we sit and watch
or ignore
or get affected just enough
to get bored
and act like all these funerals
we can afford
to sit through
or applaud
at the end
of sermons,
or poems
that say we’ve had enough
of the violence
and that we’ve learned…

yet, that one song
is still the jam
no matter the jam it got us in
no matter that the rappers delight
is now to sin
to mislead our babies
to rape our women
and our men
of any virtue that we once beheld,
from within…

but the Bad Boy made good,
the Nigga With Attitude found his beat,
you either grind or rest,
and “Suckaz” are those who sleep…

And,

Truth is that the soundtrack that he lived by,
killed him
filled him with an ambitious idea,
thrilled him
opened him up to that life,
sealed him…

Same song
that the drive by’er drove by to,
is the same song,
his friends cry to…

-see

©2014 Cornelious “See” Flowers
@seethepoet

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