wordisbondpoetry:

Dear Rappers:

She is suffering.
Muffled by the screams of your greed,
Drowned by the density of your liquor,
Suffocated by the exhales of your high.
She is suffering, tired, and weary.

The very castle on which she was constructed on
Is being desecrated by the images you so-called entrepreneurs bring forth.
Her pillars are turned into crutches,
Limping to bass line to which she used to break-dance to.
Where the vinyl in her turntable eyes, is being scratched
To the point where she can longer see.
Where the microphone to her voice, is being spat on,
By ignorant emcees.
She has been overthrown from her gorgeous graffiti painted pedestal.
And she is left there,
Encased in a plastic asylum, deemed sick but not ill
Whipped with a price tag across her back.
with a 24-Karat Diamond Noose around her neck,
Hanging from the top of a billboard. 
For everyone to see…

You have to understand, I love Hip-Hop, but there are aspects of it that sadden me.  
How most of these real g’s throw money around like its garbage, not knowing that its 25% linen, 75% Cotton. 
Making millions, not remembering the bigger numbers of 13, 14, and 15. 
Making supercilious songs that don’t contain words
As big as emancipation, equality, and enfranchisement. 

Still treating women as three – fifths human, forgetting that we are a whole. 
Calling themselves real men
Compared to Coltrane, MLK, and Malcolm X, they are just boys. 
Boys rolling around in their lavish toys.
Rocking steel “chains”, and tight “whips”
Not realizing that there was nothing hip, 
forgetting that their ancestors also use to rock steel chains, and tight whips.
They are like re-runs to shows that I am tired of watching.

Rappers are often fixed on getting their fix. 
Writing songs in the blood of their own friends. 
On the paper of their corpses. 
Hip-Hop can be violence.
Hip-Hop can be hatred.
Hip-Hop can be cursing.
Hip-Hop can degrading. 
but you see Hip-Hop is the feeling when your stomach is hungry, having nothing to eat, and so you had to write.
Hip-Hop is a prison in-mate 25 to life, having nothing to do, and so he had to write. 
Hip-Hop is a broken down neighborhood, with people tired of their lives, and so they had to write. 
Hip-Hop is Tupac.
Hip-Hop is Biggie.
Hip-Hop is the Sugar Hill Gang with a “hip hop the hippie the hippie to the hip hip hop and you don’t stop.” 
Hip-Hop is in you.
Hip-Hop is in me.
Hip-Hop is love. 

Take out your pistols, throw away the bullets, and load them with the sun. 
Then shoot at those sanguine colored clouds
So that your blue and red eyed partners can finally see the light.
And that their irises would stop crip-walking around their corneas.  
so they would finally realize that history is repeating itself before their very eyes.
And yes Drake you only live once, so tell me why are they acting this way.

Hip-hip is a culture bounded by youth, political engagement, freedom, and scratched tongues of liberation.
She has given birth to many, screaming a movement of dreams.

In the midst of the battlefield, paved with n bombs and demeaning artillery. 
A deaf child walks the streets of his hood.
Lost, she reaches out her hand
Whispers in his heart
telling him that there is still hope. 

Dear Rappers,
She no longer wants to suffer anymore. 

Sincerley,

One of your Listeners  
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Youtube Video of me performing the piece.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=au-RndtmSNo