Bogus Fresh Poets Collective

Pristine paper
confronts me,
as I struggle
to lift a heavy pen.
Weary eyes
are no longer able
to focus on streams of images,
begging to be translated into words.

This scenery
frustrates poetic ambitions,
goading me
to finally realize that creation
requires self-immersion,
I must become
what I communicate.
I need to get deep within it,
beneath the surface of the thought,
inside the core of the purpose.
within the soul of the struggle.

I must be willing to become the actor
not only in the video but in the song.
Living the blues,
the rhythm
and the melody
that keeps on keepin’ on keepin’ on
in the face of emotional adversity.

No matter the discomfort,
no matter the pain,
I must be willing
to venture into the belly of the whale.
And I must be willing to rip, claw, and tear
until I emerge wearier
yet all the wiser,
and then continue tearing down
obstacle after obstacle
until I am liberated from excuses.

I must be willing
to hunt for truth amidst soul smugglers,
whose life purpose is to steal away my lion heart
to my rewrite my lion history,
and to mold my lion mind,
just as they did my ancestors.

I must be willing to don the stage
to address an audience
sprinkled with fake prophets, brain-dead emcees, and hate.
Exposing my essence to ridicule and perhaps worse,
I break the chains of the obvious, the apparent, and the already-said.
I avoid conceptual fads like dichotomies
and well-worn topics such as chocolate love and deadbeat dads.
I stray from senseless and fatiguing metaphors
in the bottom of heart and the depth of my soul.
I distance myself from the boundless materialism
of Rolex watches, German cars, and idle boasting.
I resist no dismiss the temptation to repeat new jack truisms espousing pseudo intellect.
You might overstand me if you could see what I see with my third eye.
I recognize the difference between being profane and profound.
I refuse to paint life black and white.
I refuse to rehash my best sexual episodes in verse.
I refuse to let my insecurities manifest in hate, insults, or threats.
I refuse to advocate solution without resolution and growth.
I refuse to alleviate symptoms without dealing with the root cause.
Despite the allure of fame, glory, money, and their accompaniment gratuitous sex,
I refuse to say what I think you want to hear.
Forgoing the satisfaction of the rhyme,
I release myself from lyrical handcuffs.
Sidestepping the path most traveled,
I expose the ludicrous, the hypocritical, the detrimental.
I must be willing to pull out the braids to expose a nappy-ass head.
I must be willing to peel back the onion even as it makes me cry.
I must be willing to question hollywood, history books, policy, CNN, and ESPN.
I must be willing to look beyond the apparent to understand intention and causation.
I must be willing to forgo government cheese and tax breaks for the wealthy.
I must be willing to turn the other shoulder to propaganda and commercials
like the one that says the other white meat is good for you and
the ones that say any politician will do a great job of representing us.

I must be willing
to venture into a den of thieves,
declaring everything I value,
willing to leave with nothing
save my values,
my beliefs,
my integrity.

I must be willing to be myself.
Perhaps then
I can be honest
insightful
responsible.
Perhaps then I can be a poet.