MyPoem

I'm alright
But My poem is Pissed

I'm not an activist
In fact I'm a pacifist
Matter of fact I'm an actualist
Actually my activism is more like acting
I don't even care about reacting
When something happens I get mad and play Madden
I'd rather take it out on the Patriots than plan community action
I don't make social statements
My priority is a basketball game
I'm more interested in the development of LeBron James than Asatta Shakur's fate

But my poem is a lot like Noah
In that it's in touch with Jehovah
And in listening to J.Hova
The glow of the Ant Black album is longer than 1 year in the making
Longer than Jigga's carrer in the making
Longer than my 24 years in the making
But 400 years in the making can make a brotha sick
My poem is like Grandma's whoopins,
"Go get me a switch"
I've gotta learn you the hard way like Sankofa and the slave trade.
While Elvis played and Clive Davis gets paid,
I'm pained from the oppression my great-great-grandfathers were gave
My great-great-grandmother was raped
Israeli and Palestinian conflict doesn't change
Africa's got AIDS
The slaves lived in chains
3 strikes locked in chains
But rappers wear chains like the Chinese chain-gang
When the actuality of this reality is that iron-clad and platinum chains are the same,
Symbolizing our dependencies upon tracks
On the railroads laying tracks
In the studios laying tracks
Different races, different ages, we get the same stiff
So my poem is pissed
The Treaty of Guadeloupe Hildalgo needs to be fixed
My poem is pissed
Tongans and Samoans kill each other like Bloods and Crips
My poem is pissed
Three possessions get you life
While Execs rob millions in retirement and get slapped on the wrist
My poem sits
Frustrated and exacerbated by the state of the union today
But I've turned Aceyalone
"I'm healthy, I'm alive, I won't complain"

I love to feel God's tears on my face
The serenity when I stop and pray
I love to wade my feet in ocean waves
I love close my eyes and dream of her all day
Think of her all day
Be with her all day
She brings me peace with all her loving ways
She makes me feel like "Ooooohhhhhh"

But you feel that
The voice in my mouth's sound
It's the cry of urban Mau-Mau
It's the cry of my poem wondering how now I can exist in content
I've seen my poem wearing a mellow-yellow zoot suit in the streets of LA in 1943
For the Soujouner Truth projects in 1943
For 3 Black kids in Chicago that couldn't swim in 1919
For a Wall in Berlin
For a Square in Tienanmen
For the secretary of the NAACP, Dr. Martin Luther King, and marches in 1963
For SNCC and Stokely in the 60's
For Black Power and Berkeley Free Speech
For Third World Jubilee
For the revolution of Haiti
For No Justice and No Peace
For Give Us Us Free
For Radio Raaa---Heeeeeemmmmm

But this ain't a Spike Lee Joint
I'm just tryin to Do the Right Thing
My poem is Mm-Mm-Malcolm and Mm-Martin
While I'm like Mm-Mm-Mookie
I'm just tryin to maintain