Untitled Poem Four

probably won’t make it in politics
the truth don’t make me spit
and i can’t take the taste of ass on my lips
i wrote it to myself for my son’s health
and those that loan life freely for no checks
my soul’s stretched in scrolls scratched in
like tally marks found in mad men’s hearts
i don’t need dashikis or swahili to spark
light in the dark, i am light in the dark
before the record spun or the lessons begun
and if the essence is from the begining
how can a land mass
defined by man
define me?
or societies once sworn to secrecy
be my open and honest legacy?
i am he that was she that were them
that was only a whim and a hum
absolute silent thought dancing to an eternal drum
and although I can’t bear arse on my lips
I will talk my overly analytical creative shit

…naw, i probably wouldn’t make it far in politics…