i remember an adolescent primed and prepared
with one foot in the street dynamic and the other
on the threshold of a poetic dynamic
i recall fondly a 14 year old discovering an empty room
a room isolated from the street sciences
a room offering protection from the petty beefs
turning more deadly each passing day
a room in which i could temporarily escape
the innate ghetto inheritance of fear
and run into words
how many days did i wake up thinking
this is it..my last day
sure nuff im going to accidentally step on a brothas
new air jordans or rap to the right girl
living on the wrong block on the left side of town
will i die walking to her house or on my way home
and being preoccupied with the reality
will i inadvertently step on my new enemies
brand new air jordans
i mean we both have reps to protect right
and running into words cant help me escape
the reality of a senseless death
his or mine
i remember vibing with the most militant cats
the dudes who you didnt know and didnt want to know
the dudes who never spoke about their experiences
in hell so you knew instinctively that hell is one hell
of a hot place to reside
they tought me to let the sweet dee die
to kill my fantasies and face the reality of being
just another black face in a faceless crowd
and above all they implred me to run into words
and away from hateful words spoken
in that room isolated from the smell
of the ghetto ablaze i could be malcolm
on a new york street corner preachin about
a new religious drug
i could be el debarge not kinky haired dee
because back then young ladies didnt dig cats
like me
thank god for mike jordan but to hell
with his shoes nah mean
too many to step on..like land mines
in afghanistan..you just didnt know
what you didnt know until...momma was crying
dying wasnt an option so i cultivated
my huey p. newton and found solutions
by running into words
i remember a young groom full of trepidation
and scared out of my mind
by walking hand in hand with her will
i be faced with the reality of being what i am not
will i be forced to delay the contrast of word interplay
with the awareness of being
after all i cant share this room i reside in
you see this room though it contains a window
to my soul is windowless for others attemping
to determine who i am
it is only meant to be viewed when i decide
damn yall its the only thing i own
after all my inner thoughts are the only vehicles
i own that are not leased to the world
its my world and i found it by running into words
love affairs end with most poets dramatically
sadly..metaphorically..it has be be because
the blues aint blue if you dont think in colors
and as a poet i live in technicolor
though reality says the world is black and white
truth is no one is right and very few are wrong
i accept interpretations of dee the poet
but refuse to allow inspection of dee the man
why..do i have somehting to hide
i wish for those wondering my life was that dramatic
its not even close sad to say
im not a playa but i have been played
not a soul slayer but i have been slayed
not a deliberator but i have been delayed
not a prayer but i have been prayed for
i have lived for and amost died for ..these words
to live in this room..to run into words and find a way
to reconcile your reality with my sense of reality
so if i stepped on your new air jordans
accept my apology because the reality is
if we dont have words to run into..we will run into
each other..and away from the protection
of an isolated room..and into a mine field..
something has got to give..so i give you my words
and i promise to protect yours
am i being kind or generous
not at all ive just stopped running
words are my home now..i can only pray
you have stopped running away from yourself
and have found a home
by running into words