sleepy

staring at a another page so blank and white yet again
hoping for some mysterious genius inspiration to hit
with pen in hand
and i've guzzled three cups of coffee and i'm still not waking
this perpetual chemical coma is so fucking debilitating
lookin' for clarity and i'm tired of waiting
tired of

not knowing
not understanding a single thing
trying to figure
what makes a person feel complete

i've got an itch in my skull i just can't control and it aches
put lots of shit in my lungs and guts as a metaphorical
safety-brake
but everything i see inside you or me and in between drags me down
societies see human beings in need and tosses a brick to those that drown
grab their ipods with headphones plugged in to kill the sound
tired of

pretending
like i don't know anything
trying to relate
to an ignorant society

Re: In Defense of Black Rage [and other rhyming words about brutality]

the police are heavy on their beat in the Missouri heat,
suppressing the unrest of another death left for all to see on the street,
and while unfriendly protest and looting may seem a backwards way to express ones rage,
you can understand the impulse to fuck shit up in the face of reckless execution all the same
no one's to blame except for the inciting cause

if they could just finally figure that they could stop a lot of violence if they thought twice before the twitch of a trigger
maybe the communities would be forever on their side
but the powerful puff up their chests and flash their badges, breaking our backs while neglecting the the masses
on peripheral lines, real people die due to masculine pride

no matter what you say, flashy badges
shouldn't often lead
to funeral pyre ashes

yet one per twenty six hours does an african americanian get shot by those with the power to end a life with almost no recourse
with very little remorse given to the families brought to the brink of ruin by the black hole put in the center of their universe,
even if the offender was perverse,
maybe you could'a just pepper sprayed that fuck, or used a billy-club, or be assisted by one of the six other officers nearby,
you've got the might, the power of state by your side, you can find a way to end this mess without another death on your hands,
everyone understands you've got one hell'uv'a job,
but once you've stepped over the lines, all hope is lost
and moral high-ground broke her ankle running away from the way you try to abuse her name,
'cause everyone who's black is in a gang
when you release your statements

i wait with bated breath
for the time that you end
a brutal encounter
without another death

and a lot of the times, you see,
as an imperfect human being,
you have perceived things differently
that what reality would've agreed
so maybe
you should leave the scene
without creating
another grieving family
or angry community

... in other words, just to be plain and simple

not everything easy, the world's violent
and with that, fuck, I'm not too thrilled
but not every traffic violation
or racially provoked 'routine search'
is a matter of 'kill or be killed'