Put your music on shuffle. Write a poem beginning with the first phrase you hear.
Fuck these niggas talking about man
I just want a hundred grand
Is all these artists talk about
They can’t make good music so they just talk about stuff that brings clout
Money, drugs, girls, all the things that bring us down
But we talk about it because that’s all we can get on the beat
I wish they would just take a seat
If you can’t rap then why even take that leap
Our people dropping to their knees
Because of the drugs their taking
Because of what your songs saying
You’re not even taking
While they’re dying
Or killing to feed the addiction they gained
What am I talking about man
I guess I started tripping too from listening to you
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No blog for today. Just another video for Spoken Word Sunday https://youtu.be/g6wZdbWDERo Make sure you like, comment and subscribe on that video. But I’ll be back this week with more prompts, stories and poems. Check out my previous posts and subscribe to my mailing list.
All advice is not good advice for starters. So with that being said, take this how you like. The best advice I received was from my momma. I believe doing a hard time of depression. If I remember correctly it went something like this.
“You have to do it yourself. Nobody in this world is going to do everything for you. If you want to achieve something then you have to do it yourself.”
Yeah, that hit hard a little. I wouldn’t say I had it made all my life but I was a little spoiled. So right now it’s about getting out that habit and doing it myself. Working hard for what I want.
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This week I had a little bit of a breakdown and of course, I wrote a poem. It’s therapeutic when I’m down. Here’s what I wrote. I also made a video reciting this, Link Here https://youtu.be/k52je4nWdac
I can’t control when this depression comes
But I can tell you how it make me feel
It be having me want to grab a gun and kill the man in the mirror
I feel so fucked up to the point I got my momma looking at me in terror
I wish I could say I can beat the voices inside of my head
But every time we come face to face I get put to bed
As the tears roll down my face
I just need space
Is the only thing I say
It’s easy for you to look in and say i need this and that but you don’t feel this pain
You don’t know my demons
I wish I had a better reason
For why I no I can’t say that
I’m just trying to escape
After eight years it just feels like I’m running in one big circle
I just wanna say pops why wasn’t my dreams enough
I didn’t ask God to be this big
I just feel so sick
No I just feel like shit
Because I wasn’t enough of a son to live up to your dreams
A big waste of space is the shit I heard daily
I feel like a failure
The past got me in a chokehold
I wish I could say I won’t fold
But I don’t know any more