Humble Mouths

Raw Perspectives! Wordplay from active minds and humble mouths.

Archive for the category “Food for Thought”

Black in White

OK so…
Picture a neck and it’s attached to a rope
All the strands and fibers are the opposite of hope.
The knot is compassion, no matter how it seems because I threw my whole life at it and I’ll pay double to breathe.
Beams of pressure, relative to the mass of my weight under the stature of my stress.
Never thought I’d be aloft on a rope with Depression bouncing on my shoulders like a crazy 3 yr-old, thighs locked around my throat.
He gloats and the smell of a** at the back of my neck is revolting.
Tears fall out the pockets of my soul onto my cheeks.
Fear waves anxiously at me from a neighboring tree.
I kick, I kick, I swim…
Trying to displace enough air to lift my future out of this noose.
My hands go stiff, pre embalmed no more blood to claw at the hemp strands. They sink into my respiratory… my pulmonary, my spirituality and stop.

My tears subside and the viewing smiles lose their place in convulsions.
Pale faces, same faces that made aged faces sing amazing graces because of disgraces and segregated races boy I bet you wouldn’t wanna trade places!
This tree, almost companion less now knows me best and all of my carbon traces.
My pupils black and filled with death, face drained of light, left in fright, world once greens and reds and beautiful blues of all vertical shades and horizontal hues is only; white…

But it was born black?

***This is a direct response to the countless lives altered by the perpetuated hate of race or religion. #coexist ***

Templates

The most insidious thing I’ve faced is living in the presence of the people I have hurt;  is that then death to the people who have been hurt?
Witness the templates I’ve presented to you’re viewing pleasure.

Stable, ambitious, legendary…
Great husband,  better father,  stellar man. Pleasantries.

When the refined sugar had dissolved the plain clothed resolves
The selfishness bubbles over,
The inconsiderate actions of a self-centered soldier.
Laying in trench, entrenched in the bodies I’ve bagged as baggage.
The doors all revolve around me like dollars do around whores.
Bitter as biting into big ass radishes.
Reality is exactly what the challenge is.

So I lay templates out like sanctified hands,
Wasted years and overly procrastinated plans,
Every year is an unfortunate toast, a reminder that the last year was abandoned, never mind the ambition,  never mind my intent or my Perception’s position.
The truth is even a failure,  a war inside to face the facts like lack of devotion to one’s own pledged religion. 

I have officially ran out of templates

Bad for you

The whole world with some kids in it and the double deck home, picket fence with the clothing line with sheets pinned to it, doctorate in something financially secure just to secure your sense of security… that’s just the superficial!
Officially she only wanted me but I came complete with baggage and frequent flyer weeks, selfish in the flesh and lacking the complete comprehension of loyal-T.

I’ve got tea bags and brains and she just deserves royal-T.
This is the part that writers call “soliloquy.”
It’s important to understand that it’s not impossible to wed, impregnate and confide in someone but still give so little… me.
Trying to find my God shovel to plant this seed worthy of being rooted in… HE.
Because without divine intervention like Jesus hands on the wheel this love is more like obituar-y!

I’m so bad for you like ruined your life and stressed the rags on you.
You just wanna smile,  I just wanna give time and possibly bless the tags on you.
Treat you with more respect than meat,  do more than grab on you.
Go gambit with our daughter,  gambling over who should have the bigger half of you!
Deliver speeches at the symposiums, key notes,  I can brag on you.

All about:
How the Lord made me from HIM and you from me then put you in front of my reach,
I got proverbs that grow something strong like you, preach!
Hope the natural flavors of love don’t fade with juice, peach.
Impeached the constant variable in attempt to make romance the constant constable.

But with all my good, great, greater than wishful intentions I seem to only bring bad for you.

Lean on It

If I ever needed something… shoulder to lean on it.
I been on it but life, it’s clever it’s demonic.
Rain just hits my window I’m crying I lean on it.
Lean until I fall through, like picture no screens on it.
Picture a man walking but there isn’t a scene on it.

No picture to rewind to, no dvr, tivo… no re-running.

Dreams might be deferred but I just can’t dream on it.
Not when my son’s mom blocks my shoulder so he can’t lean on it.
Young boy less than 10 like Similac with cream on it.
Promise the kid’s got the brains just needs the self esteem on it.
I had him less than 20 like a peach with fuzz for real on it.
Promise I lacked brains just needed the reality check with the “real” on it.
I used to have a vision but now I need high beams on it.
So used to a rocky road but never saw the fog and trees on it,
Forest fallen by the wayside and with the lumberjacks who leaned on it.

Now I am lost, fatigued and hopeless,
Lack of faith for fuel and driven with stress.
My game is off, my aim is a mess.
Too much pressure in responsibility, by similarity of “s”
Too selfish for Love when my words about her have been known to be blessed.
Confused and abused, in tune with failure; I know how to carve a new beginning and it involves detailers.
I can lean on this knife, while holding it over my gripes.
Lean until the blades cuts through the layers of life.
*exaggeration, deception, lies, hopes, embarrassment, insecurity and mediocrity.
I’ll lean now, all the way on it.
I did…

But the layers were too strong like couldn’t cut the seams on it.
Hidden seems like:
My wife and kids,  the ribs,  the hopes,  my Lord had too much steel on it.

My God has bigger shoulders than mines,  enough to lean on if…

I ever needed something

Arm’s Length

We met out of reach, two people transiting the information highway.
Focused on each other in attempt of passing by.
Curiosity pleaded the “hi” and “hellos” after confirming with both your and my feminine fellow that you were and I was simply okay.
A ritual common for social networks.

Fast forward to the point at which love becomes a net worth and kisses makes the neck work,
I mean hugs and “I love yous” made the smile reflex hurt.
Cheeks shouldn’t be held to high for so long.
But then I covered reality with a blanket of chivalry, misguidance doesn’t know romance.
All along, I was playing strings for you to dance to the same annoying tunes I hated.
Goddess you are and I applied you to a situation degrading.
Delegated nothing but diluted love and meat shavings.
When you do deserve all of that carnivorous fantasy I write about, gloat about, words that pick you up and throw hope about.

You’re in need of a shoulder, a hug, a comforter dressed as an embrace, an ear with taste, a friend, a “so much more”…
I’ve been neither, but a provider;
Of space, waste displaced, contorted faces and bogus slates.
Flipped that foundation over and founded a new but it was too late for you.
You were already beyond arm’s length.

Tile High

Ever felt like you were standing on the proverbial “mountain top?”
I have…

Felt like I had it all or was on my way to getting it.
Bittersweet notes played in the wind, whenever I entered the room I felt the losing minds hate because all I did was win.
That was the motivational call and I was answering it.
Semi-deep people are less entertaining than shallow minds, grinning in the marsh pits talking shit, on borrowed time.
Bittersweet melodies play out the loudspeakers, whenever I grace the stage I felt people lose their minds because all I did was rim.

Aren’t you, overdue for some full fled… f…. intercourse off the course of these regular minds, mind track.
Adapt or dismount, life offers no trials just error and it is the be it all discount.
Attack opportunity with gracious tact.
All I ever wanted was to be cleverly mounted on that mother fu….. obscenity deleted, mountaintop.
Free of humanity and the presentation of humanity’s slop.
Cropping people out of my life and Photoshopping new ones into it, template locked.
I owed you nothing less than cops killing young boys and nothing more than racial dimensions.
Peak was never obtainable because after the journey up, I’ll journey back down, less I die up there with no change.
I’ve got no place where the oxygen thins and there are lifeless things… there is no change up there.

Baggage

What makes my baggage any less than the next, man?
I’m curious like who started the culture of maid of honor and, the best man.
I always thought of myself as the, best man.
But it so appears that my most sacred fears have coined me as a, less man.
Yes man, and no matter how fresh I think my freshness can…

I can’t change that I came with this kid,
Or that this baby mama drama collectively is a package deal.
Hate is stuck to the ribs when family can’t love your love the way you love and seal.
The contradiction to concealer is all the tears it reveals,
Streaks down her soul when I know I need her.
Breaking down her soul like hands laid from a preacher.

Can’t absolve and enumerate my past life, there is no exclusion from the past life so fuck the illusion.
My only savior of adjustment worth the savour is the fast life and all its accelerated flavors; conclusion.

Entry 1

How the fuck do I see you for you when all I’ve been taught about subliminal and direct is that your ass is 50 and your face is 30… percentages of respect.
Obviously you’ve been attending the same class because you’ve tummy tucked, face lifted, ass implanted and then decided to seek respect.
I thought it started with self???

Esteem (slot unchecked)

I’m not making it any easier am I?
When I compare you to them;
All the ones that frequent these procedures for a piece if any of social accep…. -tance.
Same goes for your perspective of me right?

I’m not a baller or a rapper so I’m definitely a trapper right?
Never mind the degree or the master’s I’m chasing, the training I’ve completed or the criticism I’m taking.
Because that’s what this education is “criticism.”
Well you’ll probably accept me for even less if I’ve managed to accrue enough funds to tattoo my neck, arms, legs, back, face and chest.
But then what’s left beneath the ink to see?
Definitely not me.

It would mean the world if my version of you started with conversation and conversions of hue before the sex and address changes.
I didn’t see your face before your ass or breast and you’re pretty so none of that might matter at best.
No wonder I’m barely 30 with these two and you. High debt accompanied by cholesterol and stress, no wonder we got a high ass death….

Ratio, don’t allow me to go racial because 80 percent of the time I did it to myself.
The other 20 percent was them and you.
Any other scenarios are indefinitely unimportant just like my ranking on the facial ladder.
You’re 5 times likelier to be hired over a man and this is the foundation of division… do the maths.

“Who do we think we are…”

John Legend sings, “Who do we think we are…?” Bellowing in another room.

And I fall into concern for self,
Considering all the notches on my belt.
Are these the stories that define my life?
Money I’ve blown, material I own, failing health.
Masking my emotions in a masquerade of career choices and stealth.

And does it all… All fall down?
Because putting it back together seems like a long shot now.
Roadblocks; where failure meets determination and fresh Kung Pao,
White wines and OJ for group toasts now.
Pro-whatever meetings and prayers to excel on the DOW.
It’s just a tiny piece of my soul for a huge fortune of gold, I’m doing better than Judas, but kisses plant equally cold.

The music is still blaring like a concert in the distance, “Who do we think we are…?” Says John Legend.
Clowns like Heath Ledger?
I’m all in the red with ambitions of swiping my name off the ledger.
In the sincerest attempts of becoming a #BOSS

Lost aspect of self, I’m a bigger man though my frame doesn’t agree,
Loss my way on the path to Jesus, traded that for African monarchy.
Bones buried before the bible knew ink,
Before historians knew slave master’s drove their religion into our drinks, and into our kids, then courtesy of whips, now courtesy of “the fix.”

“Who do we think we are?”

A people?

**** A piece inspired by John Legend ft. Rick Ross “Who do we think we are?”

What Would It Be?

If you could ask one question to the universe, God or even the most prolific person you’ve never met what would it be?
Where would you summon the words from?
Would they frame your entire character or describe a small extension of your being?

In that moment would it be your greatest experience?
Would you have the courage to vocally ask it… that thing that’s been eating at your existence?
Who would it be directed to and most definitely what about?
No regs.

But before you utter your query, that festering sore you’ve managed to cultivate into grammar and syntax;
Remember some things are not meant to be comprehended or divulged to people who have no need to know.
Even worse, sometimes certain things should not manifest themselves.

Yet still, if you could conjure one single open ended thought for someone or something else that you absolutely revere to explain; what would it be?

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