Art by Neville Dsouza

This why your man want me.
Cuz my value ain’t built
on what can be bought.
It’s built on my worth.
It can’t be traded
And It can’t be taught

You don’t like yourself
That confidence
You get from the liquor
I get when I look in the mirror
I don’t need poison
to lift my spirit
I don’t need to be deluded [diluted]
To see myself clearer

I design myself in these letters
and define myself with these words
I shape myself in complete thoughts
And when I speak what I write
You listen
Trying to see
What you heard

You don’t believe I am all that I am
How could my strength be true
When you have to buy everything
That makes you, you

Although I’ve been forged in fires
I don’t burn
I don’t waste to ashes
I don’t turn to dust
I sinter
From clay to ceramic
Until my worth is earned.

Master Pieces


They all say they would.
They say they all would.
When I tell them my story.
Should I? Keep it together?
Be… like them?

I don’t really know how to be…normal.
It’s just not written into me.
It would do no service for me.
It would do NO service for me.

Sure, I am broken, but not apart.
I am crafting and refining myself
Redesigning and redefining myself
I am rebuilding.
Rearranging my pieces.

I broke myself because
I didn’t like what I was seeing
I was a slave to the old whole
Now I am making my mosaic
Mastering my pieces
So bright, so inescapable, so original
Gilding all of me in gold
Discarding nothing
Just organizing and positioning

I am broken because
I want to design something new
Unlike any other work I’ve seen

I had to break
I had to shatter
All that I was told to be
To create MY masterpiece.

Drakest shit I ever wrote

This is the Drakest shit I ever wrote

I miss him so bad it hurts in my chest.
It’s a loud silence.
An emptiness.
A huge void.

I’m missing the little things.
I want to try again.
I want to try with him.
Im not delusional,
I believe in our positive possibilities.
I just want another chance to get it right.

Two months later, I’m hurting still
I want to be better to him and he to me
I want us to heal.
I want to be friends.
I haven’t tried all I could
But i’m ready to begin

I don’t know how to let go.
I’m not looking at his time line.
Or insta photos.
No signs of him in my home
but everywhere in my mind.
There is no thing that reminds me of him .
Just the moments my memory rewinds

Strong, urgent feelings.
Nothing about the past changed
or has a different perspective.
It just was and I want him
more than I want perfection

I want him to keep trying.
I want to see him grow.
I wanna grow with him.
I made excuses for my behavior
using his as a scapegoat.
Tit for tat.

I played because he entertained.
I was in deep.
Lost in the game

I was doing me and
not concerned with his needs
because I didnt believe
he was concerned with me.

I hope he understands
why I made the choices I did.
I hope he learns
why I didn’t trust his.

I hope he understands my hurt
looks past my fear
Forgives my mistakes and
Knows i’m sincere

Image credit: Pinterest


Squishy–when he hears that sound
he stops
mid stroke
to relish in it

It’s a goal
that you don’t go after
but one that leaves you
feeling accomplished on meeting

Squishy, may not be
the most accurate
phonetic interpretation
it’s like batting a good hit and
hearing the perfect crack from the ball
hitting to the outfield is reward enough
but that sound
creates the memory
it’s the music of the timing
and the cherry on top

I know I’m not the lover
I once was
I’ve made it about him but
it has nothing to do with him
I’m closed, shut up and down and
inside myself so deeply
I am without direction
on giving more of me
I feel like
the only thing I can give him is

The moment
he slows his movement
pauses his mind
continues his thrust
to create the sound
he is in it

I feel the stroke
The sound was at first
a consequence
until his rhythm changed
he changed in me
then it became—

It was no longer the ins and outs
I got lost in it
I no longer wanted to direct him
on how to love me
he was getting better
better than me

I had not opened myself
to receive him
only get what I ask
and take what I want
taking love selfishly

I still think
we are issues to read
we have more sounds to make and
more moments to make—

After We Ain’t We

First page is all you

I wait

I want you to taint
to dirty, to ravage, to take
to leave
alone to my words
always more than what I do
because I spend more time thinking
than doing what I should do

that’s why I admire you
you follow thru
what you want
you always get
even if it has to work hard
to be good enough for you

If I have to let go
of  what I think I find comfort in
I do
because this clause,
I changed for you

I don’t own or control
I just let what we do, be
I’ve refused to love
to open up
to share, to love you

with the light in my face
owning everything I say
wrong and weak
I see through me in you

I still wonder why you deal with me
while I play and have no idea of the game
So, I let go
and hope to be
what love will have me
and if love will love me
I will be what it tells me

You’ve become what words said to me
couldn’t motivate me to be
I can open myself
and be Tyra
no questions
of who has questions or queries
just what I like
and knowing you accept it
makes others love me

Should you stop or believe
you can find a possibility of love
without me
make it

because I will always
be in the life of your heart
even after
we ain’t we

Gold Diggin

Of half ass effort
From half ass niggas
Who wanna whole ass fuck
With half ass figures

You right
Go’head n say it
She’s a gold digger
That’s fine, i’ll claim it
I don’t want a broke nigga.

Im not worried about your stash
Or what your last statement read
I wanna know
how you manage under pressure
How you cope
How you plan to get ahead

It’s not about the clothes or the shit you buy
It’s about the means to your ends
What you do just to get by
What you justify
What’s just a little lie
What do you compromise

Do you sell your soul
Do you drop your values
To get what you want
Are you a hoe?
Do you tell lies to dive into pink seas
Are you shallow?
Is sea as a metaphor for pussy too deep?

My bad, i’ll break down the pannies, see
Pussy is life
Like a body of water
Where the bottom exists
But it’s rarely reached
Its affects are healing
And tastes a lil salty

Whole ass men swim in the sea
Dont mind the waves
Dont fret the storms
And don’t fear drowning
Captains manning ships to sail free
Thats another metaphor
hard wood in the pink sea
with white sails blowing

Broke men wont get it
Pirates, just out for booty
They’ll sail your seas
All for buried treasure
And when you tide out
They find the X
Start shoveling that shallow bed of sand
Up to their ass in the ground

Gold Diggin.
Like half ass men.


Lemme be clear

I am Jordan
She Scottie Pippen

I take shots
She rebound after I miss em

She wanna get in it but
I get it in

And She plays your cards
Cuz I deal em

She might even listen to the Roots
but baby I feel em

She’s the cut out
I’m the stencil

She draws your attention
I’m the pencil

She settle
I’m down for you

She is the second and
I am the first

Cuz she can shower you with love
But only I quench your thirst

The Movement

I’ve lost my passion for the movement.
I care about people dying and their families but the rest of it,
the hashtags, the protests, the social media statuses,
the “black-outs”, the retaliation, the angry open letters, the tweets,
the town halls and the department of justice reports.
I’m over it.

Thank for noticing now
and showing of up for the conversation but there’s only so much talking I can listen to. My story has been written this way since 1982.
Detroit West side, Joy Road and Wyoming, 6 Mile and Grandville, Schoolcraft and Prevost
has been catching bodies to oppression and subjugation.
It’s been us, it’s been them, it’s been 5-0. It’s nothing new.

We’ve been avoiding Dearborn, Livonia, Howell, Brighton, Birmingham, all of the Heights and pretty much all of Macomb County most of our lives.
We’ve been surviving.
Ya’ll talking bout change but nothing has but we still surviving.
We still getting followed in Farmington Hills.
We still pulled over in Livonia and still driving around Dearborn for fear of outstanding warrants because even when we don’t die
we are taxed like we got it
because they know we don’t
so we’re jailed like delinquents for petty crimes
that many can call lawyers to handle
but they know we won’t.

We go thru systems that tarnish our names.
We’re left with city, county and state fees to bury our credibility.
Then it’s new niggas in the suburbs who have the resources to lift the community
but they don’t fuck with us for reasons…. RESPECTABILITY.
Acting brand new like they bout the community.
No you about brunches with Dan Gilbert and Hillary.
I’m not knocking your hustle everybody eat,
but hear what I said EVERY-BODY.

So when you see someone ignorant, hungry and homeless
stop assuming they are lost, lazy and weak.
We are struggling against a system that made sure we were undereducated, underfed and lacking opportunity.
Stop looking down at us with your education privilege,
stop being bougie.

We don’t want your stacks.
We want the hand, the ladder the rope out the barrel,
giving people lessons on walking not crutches is how you give back.
We don’t need the meal, teach the hungry how to fish.
We ain’t looking for pity or sympathy
we want out of the struggle, bitch.

We know how to survive, we know how to eat. Mary, all we really want is to be happy.
So thank you for the reposts, hashtags and tweets
but that’s not a movement that’s your social identity.

Real shit is live,
Real shit is out in the streets.
Real shit is on the block.
Real shit is right now.
Real shit ain’t them or us,
real shit is WE.

I’m not suggesting that you stop posting, please pop off them tweets but make sure when you put it out there that you’re saying what you mean. Be bout it.

Word to Percy.

All Spice

See I was wit a nigga who wanted to mute me
Silence me
Keep me quiet
Blur my identity

I was too loud, too strong, too black, too big
and too comfortable being who I was
I needed to be muddled
reminded to be a lady
corrected in my steps
I couldn’t make dirty jokes
Poke fun at his mistakes
Own my past OR
Acknowledge my failures 

He was stuck in shame
Male Fragility
So, I had to join him
I had to walk under his cloud of insecurity
My happy face couldn’t brighten his day
I had to live in his sadness
He kept holding me standards he’d never even meet
I was too much of me but never enough of what I should be

I tried to run the mile
Jump the wall
Dot the I’s
And cross the T’s
But I was never really good at editing
I was RAW, AUTHENTIC, ORIGINAL, exactly who I wanted to be.
I only knew how to live by my passions
Not by the rules of regurgitated copies.
So, I had to leave.

I could no longer compromise the salt of who I was
For the way he tried to season me
I could only live like spice that comes with good things
See I’m like garlic, ginger, turmeric and chillis
I will burn your tongue
Strike your senses
AND heal your body

I am not bread to be dipped in oil
or spread with butter
I am not white, starchy or bland
I am cinnamon, cloves, vanilla, and nutmeg
I am the all spice you add to your pie
because without me
you’re just apples, butter and crusty
and that’s pretty fucking lame

So stop diluting my flavor with watered down expectations
My nigga, I am not flour, yeast and eggs