Thoughts from the right margin

It’s Never Just a Tear (Lost Innocence)

Sometimes all I want to do

Is fall into a page

And write my sorrows away.

Give all my hate in ink

To a page that wont be seen

But make you think.

Because ignorance is bliss,

I’ll fold my sorrows

And keep them under my pillow

And this is just the beginning.

I’ll write my tears and

Let these pages cry with emotion,

Because this life ain’t for me,

I’ll change my stars

With astrological precision

Just to see

If I could experience

What life could be.

I want to write all my ills

And osmosize all of my

Under the pillow intentions

And reincarnate my ancestors will

Because it’s too hard to

Walk these streets and not beef

With the young people still,

It’s too hard not to cry

For Antwone Fisher

It’s too hard not to cry

For those who go without dinner

And fend for themselves because

Life cursed them thinner

Because nutrition is fruit snacks,

Potato wedges, mumbo sauce, and corn

Washed down with orange juice,

It’s too hard not to cry ya’ll.

And I’m a man and

Men ain’t supposed to cry

So my words will only

Overflow this well of emotion

Inside my throat with every word I spoke

So I’ll just,

I’ll just spit my tears

And not talk about ‘em

Stand in the face of my fears

My reflection

And say that I embody my words

These tears my verbs

Are forfeited herbs

Through the chains of my being

My heart pumps blood

But my ink pen’s bleeding

And I ain’t crying

Because this lesson before dying

Might make a man out of me,

But if men cry in the dark

And I spit tears in the light

I’ll be a Neo for insight

That breaks through the Matrix

And spits life

These tears are my life

So I’ll spit for my mother

Spit for my woman

Spit for those ghetto kids

That ain’t killing hunger

Spit for those that can’t

Help but see themselves as niggas

And for those that tug at your mind

And try to get at yuh

And cry for the bright tomorrow

When theses words become literature.

Imma spit for the memory

Of those that came before me

In classrooms

Even if when I teach I teach it

Some of ‘em find it boring.

Imma spit for little sisters

Born from my stepmother’s womb

That look up to me

Because I’m more than a life

That ended abruptedly

And if a musket be my only defense

Verbal shots will penetrate

Your lost innocence.

(It’s never just a tear ya’ll.)