Death by Assimilation

When we get done kissing ass...
Death by Assimilation

When we stop dancing and singing
And start walking and talking
When we sacrifice our style and grace
And pick up the corporate pace
We'll cheat the poor to get rich too
Including those of our own race

When we get done kissing ass...
Death by Assimilation

When we cut our locks and dreads
...Though the follicles be dead
When we trade our braids and 'fros
For what reason, who knows
When one gets paid to think
Hairstyles never impose

When we get done kissing ass...
Death by Assimilation

Put our identities in crisis
Revoke our creative license
Just so we might be included
We'll see our character diluted
Claim to make change from the inside
When inside ourselves we blew it

When we get done kissing ass...
Death by Assimilation

We fight to simply be thought of
Not put below; not raised above
The right to express who we are
Or who we're not, and still get far
The answer's not to mimic them
Unless we freely choose that part

For when we get done kissing ass...
Death by Assimilation

Whose Tears Are These...

A simple chord strafes the air, then lands the familiar snare
That quickly, the well of my eye reminds me just how deeply I care
Plucked strings pierced with angst express such a disbelief
Making way for the baritone to whisper a way out of his grief
He strolls in melacholia, swings entry in a false laughter
But reality regrets to inform him that he is a terrible actor
He bellows a death cry, but his request is met with denial
As he howls, his wide world is suddenly reduced to an isle
In the background, a bridge to usher him over the trouble
But he is heavy; the bridge collapses as his agony doubles
A chorus to carry the burdensome fate that smothers his voice
I could change tunes, but my heart tells me that I don't have any choice

The chorus raises the baritone, raises him to another performance
But he can no longer pretend, bitter lyrics now coming so formless
A second verse trickles, bleeds from a heart in a woman's clutches
Knees leave him nothing to stand on; love no more provides the crutches
And the audience applauds him, agony for the sake of entertainment
He needs to see her before him, if only a spectre for arraignment
If she could only reveal the reason, so he could pick up the fragments
And restructure without the fatal flaws that made it all so tragic
His pain quickens the listeners, making each soul hurt so badly
"Sing out like drowning sorrows, Brotha; sing out ever-so-sadly!"
An everlasting wail meets with standing ovation; still, no response
Whose tears are these... I guess his isn't the only house that she haunts

Homeschool

The lunch lady cooks me breakfast
Unless I stay for after-school
Lunch, sometimes, my last meal eaten
Sometimes I really hate the weekends

I go home to an empty house
And several other hungry mouths
And I just can't stand...
But I'm the man; I do what I can

We've got a good momma
She slaves, both nights and days
So we just don't get raised
So, sometimes we misbehave

I'm not allowed to work
They said I have to be fourteen
I can't afford to wait that long
That's why I started doing wrong

When it's time to read I struggle
And in class, my teacher hovers
I know that my teacher loves me
She just isn't allowed to hug me

To hug me, like a mother...
But I don't need to be smothered
I am the first-born son
Lady, I've got a house to run

I've even got myself a gun...
My neighborhood isn't safe
Momma doesn't keep the men away
Love is a game they pretend to play

How did my life begin this way?
My grandma calls me, "Bastard child"
No wonder Grandpa flew the coop
Left Mom and Grandma on the stoop

When Mom was just a little girl
About my age, but not as tall
And Grandma was still young and fast...
I've learned my present's in the past

Gang Signs

I've never seen so many people scared of standing alone
I've never seen so many kids without a man in their home
I've never known so many fighters felled, left by cowards blown
I've never seen so many nobodies behind what they own
I've never seen so many claiming land they don't even own
I've never seen so many people tryna sit on one throne
I've never known so many individuals to be drones
I've never known so many teenagers to try to be grown
I've never seen so many kids where this is all that they've known
I've never seen so many suburbs where they try to be clones

Thought Is Not Meant for Thinking Alone

Scholars become vexed, and furious even
They shuffle through texts for something to believe in
And try to convince all their way is utmost
Divide their disciplines to make room to boast

And I, as student, find I'm never so torn
Am quick to dismiss every fashion and form
And while they profess, I just ask the big-heads
For logic behind missing the common threads

While logic and reason, the lifeblood of thinkers
Yet pride takes them prisoner, hook, line, and sinker
We spend several years learning manual styles
When each is the same with a different profile

Psychology or sociology... choose
But without each other, no possible views
Or Malcolm or Martin; DuBois or Washington
With two sides, surely lies a straight line between them

So why would astute men yet fail to be perfect
"Hitherto philosophers only interpret...
The point is the change..." you see, they lack purpose
With no exercise, knowledge just becomes surplus

Without focus, one can afford to have forums
Enlighten enlightened minds, go through decorum
As light through a prism, define the whole spectrum
And come up with names just to flatter each section

But, moreso than colors, the people need light
And with application, it's plain to see right
But not to seat right on some glorious throne
For thought is not meant for just thinking alone

Even a Bitch Knows

Pro-Life or Pro-Choice
That's not the debate
I'm pro-abstinence
But who wants to wait
But what you decide
Affects other fates

For even a bitch knows
From sex something grows

How people forget
So caught up in pleasure
Not counting the cost
No standard of measure
Mere feeling is fleeting
That child is the treasure

What sense does it make
After opening thighs
To find ourselves pregnant
Then act so surprised
It's so very potent
That glaze in your eyes

And more senseless still
What mind does it take
To do more than date
But go fornicate
Then not be prepared
To support what you make

For even a bitch knows
From sex something grows

When people remember
How sex should be used
Abstaining's not that hard
It's easy to choose
But don't fault the baby
For what you abuse

For even a bitch knows
From sex something grows

Angels in the Snow

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Let me slide aside your earmuff, it's making it hard for me to nip!
I want us to be kids again, but without the permission slips...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's SO COLD! I can't BELIEVE I forgot my gloves; let me touch your face!
I just want you to feel what I'm saying, girl! Don't make me hafta chase!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The whole world is being erased; it's a clean slate, a fresh work of art
But just wait until dark; the moonlight will take us a world apart
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Sigh...* * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It does something to my heart; my world's a little globe in a toddler's hands
I shiver with excitement; let's go walking... because I can hardly stand
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Can I borrow your pockets? I can't feel a single thing out here, really...
Relax, this doesn't happen often; 'tis the season to be silly!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Much better... not so chilly now, so we should resume some fun for us
Of course, it's no fun in the snow... unless someone is covered in crust!
--O * --O * * * * * * * * * * *
* O---- * * * * O---* * O---* *
* * * * * * ----O * * * * * * *
AH! ALL RIGHT! I GIVE! There's no need for unnecessary violence!
...I'm so glad you're on my side; we can enjoy the snow in silence
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Let's fall... forget about your hair, it's a snow angel's sacred calling
Let's lay back, watch the sky and peck like snowbirds as we're sprawling
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I love it... we should lie here, catch pneumonia and just call it a life
...Or tell the passers-by these two angels we made are husband and wife
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Some Body

Love's flame is demanding; lust weathers 'til worn
But he neither asks for the heat nor the storms
Just some body soft; just some body warm
Just some body for'm

Twelve paychecks from marriage; too holy for porn
Not looking for sex, stuck between the norms
Just some body soft; just some body warm
Just some body for'm

His mother would hold him before he was born
And did so until her son moved in the dorms
Just some body soft; just some body warm
Just some body for'm

Once Love Circulated

Relax...
The birds know the song; they've been practicing this long
The sun peeks and plays during these idling days
Trees bend and applaud the blues from the wind's jaws
From way down the street good times call to my feet

And the youngblood would travel these neighborhood veins

Gran'dad and Gran'ma, the yard and the kitchen
Uncles and 'Unties and hundreds of children
And babies stay babies, no hope of escape
Hearts bonded; if not, held together with tape
Now, I grab my jacket without being told
And if I don't grab it, it means I'm not cold
I need some fresh air so I leave from the stable
This family barely has room at the table

So the youngblood would travel these neighborhood veins

One day, all the cribs are passed on to the children
I wake up alone in my mother's old building
She rests with her mother and father near Millen
The summer's so hot; how the tempers have flared
A stench of a hot breeze as laundry is aired
Once love circulated; once nobody cared
The yard and the kitchen my aunt now attends
And everyone's moved, both the family and friends
I pray they forgive, but I fear they just lend
A youngblood once traveled these neighborhood veins
But now he just visits to see what became
And each time he comes back, it's never the same

There's no blood to travel these neighborhood veins

Over Her

What are you afraid of... What are you
Soooo afraid of...
Embarassment... Why?
I thought you said
It doesn't matter what people may think
Rejection... Why?
I thought you said
If she's not the one, then there must be another
What are you soooo afraid of...

Crying... Why?
Would you really cry...
Over her?
Would you mope for days... Would you pout?
These are such petty things making you doubt
Would you lose all your hard-earned confidence...
Are you really that incompetent?

A real man doesn't place such a halo
Above a person he doesn't even know
Listen to yourself, boy: before you can go to her
You've got to be a man
And get over her

The Right to Wrong (Inspired by Michael Vick)

EQUALITY... you don't really mean that
Only equality UNDER the law
Meaning, "Prosecute THEM every offense;
As for OURSELVES, only that which we saw"
Meaning, "Nevermind whatever we SEE;
it's all in that which we choose to REPORT
Sure, we can keep the JUSTICE blindfolded;
our power lies in abusing the COURT"

Regardless of COLOR, a wrong is a wrong
Not begging your pardon or even RESPECT
I only ask equal pursuit of ALL crime
Or, like you, allow US to wrong without check

Truth Lies...

Fumbling through my old raps, I found this lil poem I wrote... God knows when. It was originally called "If Not For Truth"; I found the whole piece a little rough around the edges, so I changed some things here and there to polish it. After all, I'm years in the future now ;-P Nevertheless, I thought I'd share it because it's still very relevant. A little something about the nature of truth...

Is a smile really a smile if the truth is not in it
Is a newspaper of value if the truth is not printed
Yet we smile when it's raining, while seeking umbrellas
And print lies for power, and they'll be best-sellers

When lies become laws, we still must submit
The lie becomes fact just because it is writ
So truth is two-edge'd, according to us
But who amongst us can dictate what we trust

For some say that the truth is resting with man
But I say that truth must be out of our hands
For man is the creature that knows how to lie
He lies to himself and believes his own cry

We Stand Beneath You

I actually composed this poem back in 2004. It was written as a dedication to my grandfather; I was privileged to read it at his funeral. I found it as I was rummaging through my mother's things today, so I thought I'd share it with you...

With Love We Greet You, Grandpa, Our Patriarchal Tree
In Good Soil Were You Rooted, And So It Was With Me
We Fell From Godly Branches, The Fruit Of Faith And Prayer
Because You Were A Praying Man; I Know 'Cause I Was There

Oh Mighty Tree, In Seasons Fair You Shared With Us Your Light
We Also Watched You Weather Storms, And There We Saw Your Might
And Even On Your Darkest Day I Saw You Crack A Smile
That Let Me Know Our God Was Really With Us All The While

The Shuffle Of Your Leaves For Years Brought Comfort To This Shoot
The Way, I Think, The Songs of Birds Seemed To You As A Flute
You Used To Sit Right On The Porch And Close Your Weary Eyes
Get Right Back Up And Go Back To Your Tool Shed Of Supplies

You Shared Your Shade With Strangers, Raised Other People's Kids
Kept Eden In Your Backyard, Christ In Your Heart Was Hid
A Blissful 56 Years You Were Faithful To Your Wife
And Now Live On To See The Close Of Such A Vivid Life

Live On Unto Redemption, This Bark Has Withered Dry
For Only Those Who Don't Know God Can Ever Truly Die
We Stand Beneath You, Grandpa, Though You No Longer Stand
Your Presence In The Midst Of Us, Together Hand-In-Hand

The Supermarket

Some things are bigger than saving and spending...
I went to the market, where I struggled with parking
Where, once in the door, I was tired from walking
I saw lines of people and waits with no ending
All here for low prices and endless selection
With grocery, clothing, a pharmacy section
Housewares, electrics, salon... garden-trimming?
They bought out the businesses near all the poor
It's easy: small businesses charge a bit more
While supermarkets can afford better vending
You're led to believe that they do us a favor
Meanwhile, in the third world, exploiting cheap labor
Here, elderly working as greeters... just lemmings
Holding two items, even with money I felt poor
For not spending more when I'm in such a big store
Still, I felt congested, no room for extending
The beautiful people stood shoulder to shoulder
Some people impatient, some people were older
I caught a young mother not far from me grinning
...Some things are bigger than saving and spending

Professional

Flat desk, imitation wood, with square, disappointing drawers
Tape and staples, paper clips, pencil holder with pens galore
Scanning the bar codes on children's books and teachers' aids
Xerox in the corner, small refrigerator, microwave...

The boss is gone away; no less softly I let the music play
This computer and Sade, my only company for all day
Reclining as I type, legs folded into a figure four
Pretending not to cast wishes in the frame of the open door

What if she were to come... I'd probably not know what to say
Still, I hope for a visit; if for nothing else, just to say,
"Hey, what's goin' on? How are things at the store?...
'Looking forward to graduation?... Yeah me too, even more...

May I help you?..." Act as if I'm not nervous while I fumble
Remember to speak clearly as, at times, I tend to mumble
Maybe she wouldn't be in such a rush to come and go
And we could sit and talk, maybe for hours in a row

Or maybe I would make that biggest mistake of them all:
Have this great conversation, then part with no way to call
No... today I wouldn't blow the chance, I just couldn't
I'd take advantage; there's no better chance to do what I shouldn't

I don't mean any harm--- I mean, business is really slow
I'd still make time for customers, just with more hustle and flow
So I could get back to discussion, the smiling and the blushing
Boldly speaking my heart... but tempered, quietly hushing

As the song ends once again, I retreat away from the screen
...Twenty-four years old, and yet I still crush like a teen
At very least, I have managed to force the hands of time
Meanwhile keeping professional, despite writing this rhyme

Cougar Strut

So, while through a parking lot on Peach Orchard I coasted
With the noonday sun in all of his glory focused
A stout figure cloaked in a sundress approaches
I ease upon the brakes and pretend not to notice

No... in this broad daylight she deliberately bathes
She walks, and a big-band-and-swing section plays
And I can't tell the cloth from her skin by the shade
Like ripe peaches with soft flesh and sweet juices pureed

Brake pedal to the floor, I turn down my young music
If I'd had on a hat, then I'd have surely removed it
The longer I stare, the more slow seems her movement
And with each passing step, the more loudly the boom went

My guess, no less than thirty, and a Girl of the 90's
Still dirty, ever the flirt, as I thought You Remind Me
Back then, young as I was, I never thought she would try me
But, even as a man, she still knows how to make me feel tiny

The Rain That Kept Us Cool

In the summers gone by, to my precious Lord I would cry
As the thunder would roll and the lightning would sever the sky
In the corner fearful was I, on my knees left to wonder why
Reluctant to calm the storm for my sake seemed the One on High

The summer days were so warm, in spite of the many storms
So sweet the aftershowers, but in mist mosquitoes would swarm
Mother said we needed the rain, but on this point I was torn
I couldn't enjoy the summer when staying in was the norm

And then, as if my prayers were merely delayed over years
On my block, the pillars of gray have ceased from shedding their tears
A summer I can enjoy; I haven't seen this much sun in years
I now know my prayers were heard and that He cares for my fears

The days are still so warm here, the blazing sun never hides
Still, with no lightning to frighten, all the people are outside
Summer in Augusta, Georgia; the tropics have finally dried
...As of July twenty-some-odd, over seventeen people have died

Homicide like never before, and the year is barely half-done
Gang signs in peaceful suburbs; the well-off children have guns
Murder-suicides, husbands and wives, both white and black ones
Club Super C's was shut down; most only came out to have fun

Now, as I wander His wisdom, to wonder I have no choice
That while I did tremble sincerely at the roll of His voice
The thunder of those summers was much quieter than this noise
I wouldn't feel so close to Hell if it was just a bit moist

Now near the end of this summer, as children return to school
I pray the hot summer has passed; I fear the heat will still rule
As I once prayed away storms, I now pray away the damned fool
But maybe all along it was the rain that kept us so cool

What the F#CK

Peripheries primed and stimulated with matrimonial anticipation
Ten digits ablaze with lascivious sensation, as visages fill with elation
Rhythms regimented, pauses segmented, percussion, as the beat syncopates
Perspiration, lubrication, still friction increases, yet releases the brakes
Majestic momentum, sonic surrender, supple and tender, promiscuous poise
Another galactic form interjects in our milky way with livid complaints of the noise
Audacious eroticism emits catatonia to the hypothalamus deep in my head
...And all of it comes to nothing cuz nobody understands what the F#CK I just said!

Checkmating

Nevermind your cup size, 'cause I just want to see your chess...
Ladies first, so always keep a step ahead of the rest
A queen is powerful, but first a pawn must give her space;
The company you keep confines your power to a place

A knight fights for a king, but self-control he hasn't got;
Don't lose yourself, become a Guinevere and Lancealot
'Cause after lancing, knights will change direction and desert:
You're his trophy--- he feels accomplishment seeing the hurt

So Guinevere converts; the nun flirts with the dashing bishop---
His kisses on her lips like the bitter life in a hyssop
But in a Church corrupted, even priestly moves are slanted:
He pleads the Crimson Stain, but then demands you scarlet branded

Your chariot arrives to steal what's left of you away
...Daring rook, amidst cries of, "Let her be! She's gone astray!"
To fortify your heart, see you straightened within his tower;
Now Rapunzel, slowly withered and barely still a flower

And every queen deserves a king, but kings are strictly business;
He keeps her by his side because the queen protects his interests
He barely moves, but the queen walks the world to keep him pleasured
She's not treasured; by monetary gain her worth is measured

What every queen needs is the one that overstands these pieces---
That understands the game and more importantly what she is:
Not a queen or a card or a number or other play thing;
Someone deserving of love and undoubtedly worth saving

Saving from the chess-boredom of a love based on this leisure;
For love isn't a match, and it's not much of a game either.

Why Do You Close Your Eyes

I can look you in your brown eyes
You should then already realize
Don't compare me to other guys
When you know what underlies
He'll be back when the weather dries
He'll be gone again by sunrise
And you always fall for the lies
Why should he even disguise
You ain't stupid; you ain't wise
It feels safer to compromise
Feels all right to say that he tries
Feels so good to open your thighs
Tell me, why do you close your eyes...

Now Boarding... LET'S TRIP!

What can I say: tis the season.

Experience the rhyme beyond the reason.


When friends become familiar, there's no need for the formal.

This time I bring something that's better than normal.


I'm about to trip; do come with me please.

I hear one-of-a-kindness works better in threes...


Welcome to the third volume of Romancexpress. If I truly believe in everything I've told you to this point, then I have no reason to hold back or have hesitation in writing this volume. Although I enjoy the feedback of readers, I really just want to challenge myself in my writing. And--- not to sound arrogant--- but I have my own standard when it comes to the things that I write; I truly feel that it's a standard that the readers will appreciate more and more as volume three progresses.

Up to this point, Romancexpress was merely a ride; by the end of this one, Romancexpress will be a TRIP!

B-J