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D Black

I apologize

for being a rapper

that floods your airwaves with songs that deprave

your kids' minds

making them mental slaves

I apologize

for writin' rhymes

about crimes never committed

sellin' drugs

bustin' guns

prisons never been in

I apologize

for promoting companies

lacking respect for me

stretching out their demographics

increasing their currency

I apologize

for demeaning women

when some of ya'll don't

deserve it

prostituting ya'll on wax

as a means of making profit

I apologize

for exploiting my hood

instead of explaining it

using it as a stepping stone when I should be saving it

I apologize

for giving the "n word"

heavy rotation

instead of lifting the minds of the masses

I'm satisfying investors

BUT SEE...

I got this A & R

saying if I don't write songs like these

he ain't gonna sign me

And ya'll Black folks are bootlegging and downloading

so what you gonna boycott, spare me!

And plus I got seeds to feed

and ya'll ain't buying enough copies

But these White kids get a kick

out of black niggertivity

So I Sambo on tracks

manifesting buffonery

cause these black companies can't offer what these white ones is paying me

So for an MTV crib

and a chance of luxury

I close my third eye

and compromise my dignity

Like ya'll females dancing to my number one hit songs

of misogyny

rhythmic masochists

gyrating to degradation

souls missing something

like single parent housing

Now you know why today's Black youth is unbalanced

Say hello to our future gang members

or corner drug dealers

listening to me, Mike Jones, or Jim Jones

trying to figure out who's the better father figure

And our streets is ruptured

Black leaders crossed over

selling out our structures to development vipers

And our Black lawyers and doctors

moved out to greener pastures

no more role models

they left with the Cosby season

Making us fans and victims

of misguided elders spewing the word nigger

with lousy explanations.

Ya'll are taking us backwards

Ving Rhames- Pulp Fiction

But you call ME Blackploitation!

I'm just a sound on a radio station

that YA'LL keep demanding so whose fault really is this

I'm from that part of America where genocide resides

as my neighbor

inhaling asbestos when I wake

and hearing sirens when I slumber

Now I’m a Stepford wife

steppin n’ fetchin’ for  my masters

strings pulled by my backers

But regardless of these factors

I'm the one in control of my actions

and I should still know better....so, I apologize

































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Definition

Whispers of a Lonely Soul


My mother birthed an experiment that went wrong
like a stillbirth breeching through the tunnels of love
suddenly gasping for breath from the heavens
filtering through the body beating the brain and allowing the heart to think
This writer toils harder than construction workers
laboring triple overtime for life sentences en Saharan heat
I told the heroin addicts to place my blood en their spoons
and all the crack-heads and ecstasy-paradise travelers became jealous
as the smack-fiends overdosed, since all the others wanted
to go to a place where they could actually bring peace en their rest
and visit the heaven they have been promised
even if it was for only as long as their first high

But I’m addicted to black love and the beauty of our sistas
Not smelling their smiles or tasting their laughter
my mind and life go through withdrawal trying to
save the instances downed en their fermentation of joy
while others darken their spirits allowing their souls drenched en light liquors
raining en their cups from too much humidity
I reminisce on how I’m so skinny that when my back is pressed against walls
and my heart whispers to my body, my Lockes dance en response
Growing up, people always lipped I had a fresh mouth
yet I never replied they had brains thinking on crutches
or, “Doesn’t it wonderfully complement the engines en my mind
where neurons moved faster than V12 glitches on meth?”
Dreaming so hard, my pillows soaked my thoughts
softening with every scene helping me monitor nocturnal music
as the stars came out trying to thief my ideas, building solar systems away
making me feel so good, it is hard to discontinue
my subconscious prayers, trying to interpret Holy visions

Destroy the negative and leave not an empty lot
but create happiness from it that others can peel off
and boil en their pots and pans of love and happiness
feeding the hunger beating against their friends’ hearts
Still, make sure that what you designed reflect starfish
after entire neighborhoods came receiving precious alms
that their shadows’ dances mimic the motions of tide-waves set off
by the moonlight, making love to the air, you feel as tender breezes
through your bedroom window, dreaming of the magnificence you developed
listening to God’s voice, coming en the form of little black girls
resembling the last branch of Solomon’s family-tree
I took a leaf making light strokes with a number-two pencil and scrap paper over it
So my picture could tell you, keep your eyes open
because the greatest sounds you will ever hear flash en the lobes of your heart
My dreams are invisible, yet as I tell them
I add color to my tongue, painting the memories left breathless on your eardrums
My thoughts are the smallest things changing the ways of their injured world
helping it balance on one leg supporting the altering axes
of seasons growing into others, hoping I place this universe’s behaviors
on the sofa, as I scribble remedies en my poetry books
until defining beautiful and gorgeous epidemics
plaguing aliens on planet organizations
I could never exercise my thoughts’ muscles
within the gymnasiums en the spirit of my humble mind
I urinate my ideas like a lyrically alcoholic diabetic
onto classical statutes just to make them modern art
while the wetness snowboards from your eyes recognizing their beauty
settling into the cracks of your mouths, cuddling on your taste-buds
just so they could feel good, having a place they could call home

For works from Mr. Jeff Dess Click Here!




























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