I (for you)

I am a stranger to you as you exist
Nameless because you dont know my character
You ask no questions, full of assumptions, full of hate
still I love you….I did not forget nor forgot the seeds
Not growing because I reap what has rot
And there you stayed….for me to remain a stranger to you as you exist
I painted a picture of your face to leave splashes of colors I couldnt paint over
To create what was beautiful…..You…… You to me was art
I wouldnt depart without leaving behind my love
which of course tainted during the course of my story
I’m oblivious by you…for not understanding
I have not turned my mind away
Just so I wouldnt say whats real
Yet you knew of me a moment in time
A moment of beauty turned into bitterness
I still love her, she is still someone
I just hate to see her down and out of touch with herself
She’s smart maybe because she puts alot of passion into her heart
creating it into art…something she cant depart
The drugs fill in the hollowness…Something tooken..something given
too fast too soon, leaves an emptiness left to cater to death smoke
I hope the poisonous girl with a big butt and a smile can continue to smile
and less frown, Given she lets go of the poison in her system let go of the hate that is given
let go of this mental prison
Let go of the anger poured out to others, given it has to do now with self
and cant blame my mother….although needing someone to blame
Only those can reach this pain through understanding
I am not odd or out of touch….Just touched and out of the ordinary
Angry for being giving, less recieving, angry for being a stranger to you
as you exist…nameless because you do not know me
The me you see now was never the me before and the me in the futue
will have a locked door never to be touched abused again by uneducated men
that have no idea how to handle a real gem cause they dont realize the gem
within themselves…..Dirty minds attract dirty minds cause I see the reflection of me
looking into your eyes…Only to understand that your still beautiful deep down inside
Only lies believing lies contradict the reality, I’m not mad at me….
My heart was in its place…………………..

A moment of beauty turned into bitterness
I still love her shes still someone
I just hate to see her down and out of touch with herself
She’s smart, maybe because she puts alot of passion in her art
Something in her heart that wont depart
The drugs fill in the hollowness

You Don’t Speak For Me

Enough! You don’t speak for me!
Vulgar and disrespectful Rap
does not make up enough
of a cross-section
to represent
the African-American demographic.
One small, albeit loud, percentage
of rap holding woman in low regard;
referring to other African-Americans as niggers;
while vocalizing little if any respect for others
and their property.
Enough! You don’t speak for me!

How dare you fix your lips to say
“nigger” isn’t disrespectful
as long as a Black man says it;
Hiding behind “freedom of expression;”
no less than the slave tyrants
who formed this nation
under less than equal opportunities.
How could you speak for me?
You’re to ignorant too even know your a plant!
Who do you really represent?
Surely not the Sojourner Truth’s!
Surely not the Benjamin Banneker’s!
Surely not the Martin Luther King’s and Malcolm X’s
who had more respect holding up a middle finger
than you do in your entire monologue.
Surely not the Andrew Beard’s
and George Washington Carver’s
without which the American Industrial Revolution would not have come
and most of us would have starved!

Were the trials and tribulations of our people lost to you?
Did you miss that piece of history
where people fought and died so you and I could share
water fountains and bus seats?!
Or are you so unappreciative and ignorant to think
you earned your “bling, bling” on your own?!
Silly rabbit, tricks are for kids
and you have proven you never grew up
and will probably die 200 pounds foolish
and 60 years mentally enslaved
because that freedom you think is dressed in all that money
ain’t nothin’ but a bigger cage
and you never even left the plantation!

© 2007 John M. Swails

outside room forty three

Through assimilation, simile, and metaphor
We see into project corridors
Outside door 43, the lampshade shakes violently
Intermittently like car blinkers, the light flickers
Her concussions would lead to significant repercussions
Conscious I am, so consciously I see
Crackhead logic of addiction, leading to contradictions
I love you so I beat your ass
I love you so I feed you with the very same substance that kills you
Give you a needle and expect you to show gratitude by falling to your knees
Crackhead logic often misreads life’s simplest signals
Those that aren’t subliminal,
As fresh and obvious as drool on a new day’s pillow
Rest in peace is engraved on the tombstone in concave lettering
An unfittingly calm setting for a life so turbulent
Violence has a scent that is revolting and interesting just the same
Small children, growing up around it, inhale it into their brains
Where is resides and festers
The leading cause of rapists and child molesters
See I understand
The story does not always begin with the guilty
And society is so used to Court TV that it lacks sympathy
A sympathetic ear, a sympathetic heart, a sympathetic mind, forget it
So when her little son, pulled back the trigger, while cocking the gun
I saw self defense when others saw negligence mixed with vengeance
The fact that, as he lay bleeding, the young boy repeatedly punched him
Was justification to me, while others saw it as fruits of cursed semen
the prequel tales of a young demon
The light flickered outside room 43
His mother came home and called the cops
The jail bars close on a fourteen year old and our story stops


The Trading Post by Lewchie

Yes I would like to trade this pair of shoes, for a pair of Timberlands
They were my Grandfather’s marching shoes, he passed them down to me he
told me that they would help me take a stand
He said he marched in those shoes until they open the school doors to
educate the black man
He said he marched in those shoes until he had the right to vote
Democrat or Republican
He said he marched in those shoes until they had grass and mud stain
from all over America’s land
He said he marched in those shoes while being hit with bricks and
bottles because he had some demands
He said he wanted to be able to drink from any water fountain his
thrist commanded
My Grandfather sure did a lot of marching in those shoes just to prove
the black man was a man
I would not do that to my Timberlands