I ain't spit in a long time (poetry/video)

Becuz, We Did That

We sit back,

backs pressed to chair-backs,

wondering,

what happened back then?

Back when free was

more than a four-letter word,

and air was more than

exhaling during a day,

filled with more drama

than dance.

What did we do…when we could

(really) do it?

Carefree doesn’t come close to the

feeling of:

fuck it, we got this—

in the face of insurmountable odds.

When we dared the Grand Canyon

to stay put,

just so we could attempt to jump it.

Unwise, the world told us,

as we responded:

we are brave warriors,

when did you find cowardice

so comforting?

There were no limits to

what imagination held;

as those holdings became goals,

because our favorite English teacher

told us: “Goals are better than dreams—“

So we used that term instead,

and called ourselves,

smart, brave, and goal driven.

When running was

the only way to get to the destination,

and the race was constantly on;

as plastic, Payless shoes melted

on hot cracked concrete. 

Walking is for suckas and old folks,

ya’ll know nothing of young sweat!

(too youthful to stink—or so we thought)

(we had not yet begun to “smell ourselves”)

We played basketball in summer’s sunshine,

at the neighbor’s house, or up the block

at the rec center.  We fought, and cussed,

said fuck you bitch to the rec worker, just before

getting our passes revoked, and being banned

for at least a week.

At older siblings’ apartment we,

jacked the pizza man, because we was broke,  

young, roguish, and hon-gree.

Cars became a new freedom

as the strip and lake on Sundays

became havens for adult activities,

(we ain’t had no business even attempting)—

but we did that shit in style.

Glistening rims on freshly washed

candy apple, painted cars,

we was ridin’, rat-packin’, fo’ deep’

with fo-deeze under tha' seat,

because we was creepin’ from 5-0.

And then we graduated; faded and fucked up,

we hit ‘em up,

as we pranced across the stage;

eyes red, and a “J” just under our

card-board, diamond-shaped, grad-brim.

We partied as the bass slammed eardrums,

we were young, didn’t care about decibel levels,

hell we passed science with a

solid, muthafuckin’ C—

“hurry hurry, time is passing”…

I remember those wise words of the science teacher

who definitely taught us more than just the

periodic table, and elements of nature.

She taught us the elements of life

as we sauntered to sixth period…

“hurry, hurry, time is passing”…

yea it is, yea it is.

it is only now, how much we realize

just how much…

We sit back,

backs pressed to chair-backs,

wondering,

what happened back then?

….hurry, hurry,

            time is passing.

Unintentionally intimidated…

Initiated into

open stages where

differing points

could be heard like

conversations at the corner store

or parking lots after

poetry sessions

smokin’ good green,

puttin’ green puffs high,

into the atmosphere.

Felt the same vibe

would happen on

nights where musicians gathered;

would feel warm,

would feel welcomed,

would get that

excited feeling of

walking into your homie’s basement

ready to record

your dopest thoughts…

but it didn’t happen,

 

Unintentionally intimidated.

Where the inner-child

jumped up in awe,

yelled hell naw

I ain’t following that—

not as good as that cat—

let me pack,

take a last puff off your square,

I ain’t goin up there,

but let me take that last listen

to that bad ass high hat,

grab my little sax….

and split,

shit I ain’t as good as that cat

Unintentionally intimidated

When something inside of me

snapped and broke,

causing a crash and burn

effect on the inner workings

of all things that made me, me

Was like,

I became Rip Van Wink

when ever I got close to the ink;

even penning poetry

became a chore,

attending open mics, a bore

I could no longer stand my reflection,

had no idea what my psyche

had in store,

I had become unintentionally intimidated

Until one night,

gathered my nerve like I used to do;

grabbed up my back-pack, notebooks

and went completely old school—

grey hairs perking up

as my head’s hair follicles

of the conscience nation

began tearing at the

unintentional intimidation

elevating my self-esteem information,

so by the time I reached the place,

I was ready to go

face to face with all the faces facing the stage…

Truth is,

I had to man up, or poet up, or musician up

Had to remind myself that

I am the greatest, I am, that I am.

I am only in competition

with myself—

And with that realization

the only unintentional intimidation,

is with that gorgeous reflection I see,

so I’m learning to leave the pressure behind and  

embrace the beauty