Saturday, December 26, 2009

"If we don't change, we don't grow. If we don't grow, we are not really living.
Growth demands a temporary surrender of security. It may mean giving up of familiar but limiting patterns, safe unrewarding work, values no longer believed in, relationships that have lost their meaning. As Dostoevsky put it: 'Taking a new step, uttering a new word, is what people fear most.' The real fear should be the opposite course."
- Gail Sheehy

Friday, December 25, 2009

Why I Am

This isn't about money.
This isn't about fame and fortune
and all that crap that most of you
think you need.
Nah, homie,
this ain't about none of that.

This here's about a slang that frees me,
about a way I walk and talk
that let's me be me,
becoming what I can be
whether or not ya'll understand me.

This ain't no talent-show-style,
this is buck-wild-freestyle
that you can't put parentheses on;
I abolish your brackets.
This is psychosis without a straight-jacket
but directed intentionally,
this is all emotion spit plentifully
out the mouth of a sinner,
out of the mouth of a man
who's doing his best to grow
despite obstacles clogging the follicles of growth
derived from an oath -
he swore to the world that he'd be better.

But I was Fucked Up Beyond Belief
before I laid the Foundation,
before the Understanding that was
Based on Benevolence...
I cannot abandon my inheritance.
My upbringing does not define me,
my genetics do not define me,
my past does not dictate me
but it plays an unalterable role
in affecting who I am.

Nah, son,
this ain't no excuse or rationalization,
it's merely an interpretation,
an explanation of why I am...

I fear I do not have another path.

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

The Myth of Self-Worth

Sometimes I still see myself there
with that bottle in my hand,
screaming to the world,
“I don’t give a damn!”
trying to convince them as I try to
convince myself.

Sometimes I still see myself there
holding that pipe,
holding that bag, that bong,
that bloody knife,
wondering why nobody cared
when I could’ve cared less about their lives.

It’s hard to understand,
hard to fathom, let alone explain,
how I got to that point,
that jumping-off place where
I wished for the end,
when I see where my life is today.

A seed becomes a tree
when it’s nourished right,
given enough water and light—
I thank God every day
that I somehow came to life.

Because people believed in me
when I hated myself,
they told me I’d come through
while I berated myself,
desecrated myself as if I weren’t alive,
treated myself like I didn’t deserve
a damn thing;
man I had a lot of nerve.

Because nobody ever told me I was worthless,
nobody ever told me I was nothing;
I told myself that for years…
and thank God, thank whatever or whoever it was,
that allowed me to open my ears
to hear what I was being told
despite the fact that I chose not to listen:

that you are precious,
you are loved,
you are a child of God and nobody,
no circumstance,
not the face of evil itself
could ever take that away from you.

Nobody can ever take that away from you.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Lyrics from "History" (collab with Crossword, K.G., Noyz)

Girl, it’s hitting me, our history is tearing us apart
you used to call me your (lover)
now I’m sitting here in fear of breaking up your heart
and calling you just another

we used to be together like peas in a pod
the way you used to move, girl, got me so hard
fantasy into reality like, MY GOD!
used to think we’d be together forever but – nah!
I heard times change and rearrange us
now I think it’s true because nowadays we acting like strangers
instead of telephone tag, tryna catch me on the phone
nowadays, I find I’m spending more nights alone
I’m out of phase, confused, wondering ‘how did we lose touch’
a fruit so sweet, I gripped too tight, it bruised much
now I spend nights pondering
our history wondering
through the broken pieces of a fractured past
but one thing I’ve learned is that pain, it don’t last
so I’ve moved on, now I feel that I’m truly free
I guess lust can make us blind to the realities
now I know that we can never be
it’s sad to see

Another Rapper

Another rapper.

Just what we need: another rapper.
Another wack-kat who thinks he can rap on tracks,
lacking facts behind his lyrics,
who acts with no tact –
get your mind out that trap.
Get your mouth un-bittered by that taste,
un-chase that rat-race of judgmental space,
T-Dot: unscrew your face!

Another rapper?
Nah, not just another;
not black but I’m still a brother,
your brother,
your son, your father, grandson and gradfather –
don’t waste your time trying to classify me,
don’t bother.
Don’t type-cast me;
white rapper, back-packer, conscious rapper –
don’t gas me,
stand with me for a minute instead of moving right past me.

A rapper?
Not just a rapper – an MC.
Master of Ceremonies,
Microphone Controller,
Move a Crowd like I’m pushing a boulder.
Masterfully Crafterd,
Magnificently Captured,
Monumental Creations,
Mental Commander,
do you understand the
devotion that I put into my work?
My dedication to making it work?

I doubt it.

I don’t think most take the time to listen,
steady bitchin’ like they’re trapped in a prison
with no vision;
that’s why I’m on a mission.
To tell ya’ll to reach a little higher,
I ain’t tryna preach but teach,
if I can reach even one with what I beseech
then I could peacefully retire
‘cause is my mind the truth is burning like a fire.

No, I’m not just another.
I am not “the other” and neither are you,
no matter what they told you,
let your future unfold you,
let my lyrics hold you,
forget that bullshit they sold you,
your potential is infinite, the future is gold too,
take back your life –
who stole you?
Where did you go away to?
What happened to the God you used to pray to?
That banging beat you used to sway to?
Do not let this world decay you!

We are not just rappers,
DJs and breakers,
graf artists, MCs and beatmakers.
We are hip-hoppas,
the one’s hated by parents of 16-year-old daughters,
refusing to be lambs to the slaughter,
not asking for a drink but finding our own water,
Afrika Bambaataas,
Lil’ Kims and Big Poppas,
the one’s who rock mics proper,
shining like there’s no sun hotter –
the real hip-hoppas.

See I’m not just another rapper; I’m a poet.
It’s in my lyrics on tracks when I flow it
but some act like they don’t know it;
sometimes I even gotta spit it acapella to show it.
Plant a seed, hope to grow it;
I trust in the mic further than I could ever throw it.

I trust in the future being better, I’m wishing
that we open up our eyes to realize what we’re missing,
I trust that I come across as hopeful, not dissing
and I trust that when I speak from the heart
that ya’ll listen.

Saturday, December 19, 2009


They told us not to believe
in fairytales and happy endings.

They told us not to shoot for the stars
because missing the mark
is just too damn painful.

They told us to behave and
bite our tongues
and sit back, be quiet, and watch the show.

They told us to do what we were told
and get results.

They told us how to think.
They told us not to dream.


I’m telling them all to shut their mouths
and only open them to breathe or cheer.

I’m telling you all that you’re telling yourselves
the same things they told you to believe
and that you need to STOP.

I’m telling you to stop standing polemically
and start standing affirmatively
in the name of something that inspires you so much
that the thought of its fruition
brings you to tears.

I’m telling you because I was told
by Something, Someone, Somewhere so great
that all reasons and arguments scatter to dust
in the face of what really matters to us.

I’m telling you that you and I and he and she
are not so different.

I’m asking you to give up all you’ve been holding onto,
I’m asking you to give up knowing,
I’m asking you to imagine,
to go out on the limb and risk falling down,
to venture into the unknown, knowing the risks,
and trudge that path you’ve been yearning to walk upon.

I’m asking you,
I’m pleading with you,
I’m begging you to DREAM.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

I write poetry at 3am

I write poetry at 3am because
I’m not trying to tell you a story
about the dramas of life that we tend to
fall into and out of like
so many little kids obsessing about
the next fad.

Veins bulging through thin skin on the hands
of the poet as he types on a laptop
wondering why
he’s writing poetry at 3am.

It’s because while most of the city is asleep,
in a city sleeps all day as it appears to be awake,
my soul is screaming through the corridors of my brain
and demanding that I tell you something.
Like a jagged piece of rusty iron
tearing through animal flesh,
these words rip their way through me
out of God knows where and tell me to
get up at 3am and tell you all to
wake the fuck up
wake the fuck up
wake the fuck up before we blow ourselves up

I write poetry at 3am because
I have this strange belief that
I need to pick up the slack for
everybody else who isn’t pulling their weight
to advance the evolution of the consciousness
of the human race.

I write poetry at 3am because
that’s just part of who I am.

Friday, December 11, 2009


She shivers off a painted lie
as if to say she never cared for all
the pretense and the bullshit that
she let pass between her lips.

As if an entire life of persona
could be shifted in a single moment
and all that came before it would be
just another memory.

I guess that’s the only way that anyone
can live with themselves,
when the pain of living another day
inside a façade becomes too much,
when that little voice inside screams so loud
that no amount of rationalization can ignore it,
to be able to make that choice to just
give up all the anger, the fear, the pride;
it’s when we refuse to make that choice,
when we choose cowardice over courage
or when we forget that we have a choice at all
that we suffer from what seems to be
the greatest of defeats.

Shift in Direction

I was surviving,
not living.
I was struggling,
not striving.
not producing.
Sleeping and never waking.

Now I am awake.

My eyes are wide
open to the moon, stars, sun
and all that they illuminate.

Now I can learn
instead of faltering;
grow instead of withering.

I will love instead of
running in fear,
walk instead of stumbling
and live instead of dying.

Now I can be.

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Breaking the Silence

You’re in a bad situation, why you making it worse?
break your neck with the mic. so you can break in the Hearse
this ain’t what I wanna do, man, it’s what I gotta do if you provoke me
your arm’s too short to choke me
this ain’t a hoax, B
writing down the facts that you won’t see
cuz you think that I’m joking
what the fuck you smoking?
my rhymes leave your pride broken
yo, you better wake up
now here’s a parable:
you try to mess with me and that’s a terrible idea
my rhymes send you straight to hell
I’m MC FÜBB, get to know the name well
I rebel on the mic., I give a fuck if this will sell
most fiending to get played on radio and TV
be infecting the game like an STD
next to me, they’re in a false state of ecstasy
I spit ‘em rhymes that they’re far too perplexed to see

A generation screams for revolution
blood and guns just ain’t the solution
vengeance and violence only brings police sirens
breaking the silence is my contribution
A generation screams for revolution
blood and guns just ain’t the solution
vengeance and violence only brings police sirens
my contribution is breaking the silence

When I’m spitting the writtens, I start foaming like rabies
what I write for the mic could be inspiring babies
to resist, raise a fist to the mass assimilation
mediocrity of minds is destroying the nation
political lies are pitiful, with ridicule
heads follow it and swallow it like brainwash videos
but I ain’t gonna pout – that’s not what I’m about
living in revolutionary times, no doubt
the greatest evil that a good man can do is sit back and do nothing
while hatred goes un-confronted
let me tell you something
better put down the blunt and stop frontin’
cuz this ain’t a joke cousin
this is in your face shit
not some outer-space shit
write my rhymes in ink so that nobody can erase it
spit so much truth in one rhyme, I make your brain sick
like heroin withdrawal, I know your dying to taste it

A generation screams for revolution
blood and guns just ain’t the solution
vengeance and violence only brings police sirens
breaking the silence is my contribution
A generation screams for revolution
blood and guns just ain’t the solution
vengeance and violence only brings police sirens
my contribution is breaking the silence

When I’m wilin’, freestylin’, I start breaking the silence
rhymes freeing and flying out the cell, like Riker’s Island
filing and piling these rhymes, as I start smiling
multiplying rhyming while these people crying and dying
how many people lacking the choices
‘cause they ain’t got voices?
still they dream of owning Rolls Royces
they focused on situations hopeless
the motive for most is to find where the dope is
like players with no coaches, lost in the scramble
trying to manage lives that they just can’t handle
struggling to live, yo – how does that make sense?
trying to make it big when they can’t even pay rent
here is my statement:
everybody’s gotta live for something;
if we don’t create meaning then our lives mean nothing!
subdued long enough, now I write these rhymes to free minds
we live in revolutionary times

A generation screams for revolution
blood and guns just ain’t the solution
vengeance and violence only brings police sirens
breaking the silence is my contribution
A generation screams for revolution
blood and guns just ain’t the solution
vengeance and violence only brings police sirens
my contribution is breaking the silence

Yeah, I’m breaking the silence
Yeah, I’m breaking the silence
Yeah, I’m breaking the silence
Yeah, we breaking the silence
Are you breaking the silence?
or are you causing the violence?
I start hearing those sirens
and it’s telling me we gotta be breaking the silence

A generation screams for revolution
blood and guns just ain’t the solution
vengeance and violence only brings police sirens
breaking the silence is my contribution
A generation screams for revolution
blood and guns just ain’t the solution
vengeance and violence only brings police sirens
my contribution is breaking the silence

Thursday, December 3, 2009

To Be

When you’ve gone through hell
and come out on the other side, alive,
part of the hell that you’ve gone through
stays with you.

It doesn’t matter how far you walk past the threshold,
how many obstacles you overcome or mountains you climb,
at the end of the day,
when you’re alone with yourself,
everything you’ve ever been, done, possessed or lost,
all the things you thought you’d forgotten and
gotten over,
all those tiny scraps of hell that you thought
you’d left behind on your path
are still with you,
still holding on for dear life;
and experience has shown me that
we can never fully get rid of them.

But human beings can live despite anything.
We can grow and learn to reinterpret our pasts,
to frame or experiences so that they don’t determine
who we are,
so that can we choose who we are going to be
in the face of all that we’ve ever known.

It takes work.
It takes courage.
It takes telling the devil whispering in your ear
when you’re cold and tired and angry and lonely
to just fuck off
and let you be the person you were born to be.
Sometimes it’s a struggle,
sometimes it seems like a fight for your life,
and sometimes it actually is.

This is what it means to me
to live a life of purpose,
to walk humbly under God’s grace,
to fulfil a destiny and shape one’s karma,
to keep on walking when the weight of the world
seems to be dragging you down by your ankles,
to fight the good fight
to be a hero,
to be courageous when nobody’s watching
and be the human being you really want to be –
this is what it means
to be.