This stuff should of been buried, Like a treasure chest, Like a time capsule, I don’t write poems for snobs /I don’t drink coffee black / I drink while black/ Drive while black/ Teach while black/ Love while black/ Learn while black / My black soul was/ Dipped in the red blood/ Emerging white on rice/ God is love from bone to marrow/God is my collard greens and cornbread/God is black/ Not because I say so/ Rather because God is always what and when you need Him/Her/Them to be/And I need Him all the time.
And black America don’t need another white savior/ God is the only one who will always be there washing this black soul white as snow.
This should have been buried/ Cause the transparency looks too translucent.
The tears looked as wells in dry places /Food in the wilderness/ Wealth in the ghetto/ Wind in deep space/ God’s grace
is unmerited and unexplainable/ an endless anomaly that everyone does not deserve/
worth is different than value/Yet i live with open arms
i can’t save everyone /Can’t myself even save myself/ From myself/ When myself finds herself loving “it” more than the Giver of Life/ I don’t talk about God for itching ears/ I don’t talk about God as much as I live for Him/ I don’t live for Him like I should/ There is more require of me / Each day the prices Go up/ Purchased / blood bought /redeemed/ Of the Lord say so/ Say no/ Say so what/ gross indecency/ indifference/ holiness/hipster/dripping/an oily vehicle of miracles
desforpres 