The Hold Up. (Poem)


I’m looking for change imagination can’t come out of pocket for. Sketching thrift shops on burnt down buildings to remind me of where I come from and what for. I get much from it but luxurious counterfeits deposits more.

To our spiritual jars than rain drops.

And we shouldn’t

par with man made weather wiether we know it or not

But I.

can get as high as I can’t see and see me there.

With no hang ups.

Just my Bible tool as my arsenal in case I have to drop a flare. Being more than aware of what Langston say life aint…

I’m lost in my own description while remaining cool in my disposition.

Trying not to fall into remission by keeping eyes off the suspicious.

I Keep high to know my position. Talk to God because She’ll listen.

On my path so you can feel me and I can find me. Not hauled off to jail because the police got me to my knees.

My needs is what the devil trys to deny me. 

Social security’s only dignity is to try and hide me, and no need to wonder why.

We all look to the same book to pry open my demise.

So I’m rolling up with my niggas like a drive by.

Killing what don’t want me to eat to night.

Trying to hold on to my main thang like a broke nigga with 15 dollars wearing a flee collar.

They think I aint much but economy clean bucks keep that thought at bay.

 As you approach to, steal my culture.

Action is proof who someone is…words are just what they want to be. And that only seems to be US.

Let’s all just be who we really are.

We see let downs and can anticipate plenty scars

coming when we don’t play our part and rehearse our own lines.

And Coming as hastily as marches become commercials.

And dancing in the streets turns into ‘kill that noise’ on Broadway stages while we go through changes.


Threatening me with distance that has always existed is being consistent.

Not harmful. 



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