Anybody Claiming To Be Your Soulmate Is Probably A Sociopath.

Who shot ya!? Hey, Pac, I’m still on the case because ever since they murdered you none of us have been safe. Was it the police? Was it your homeboys? Was is the KKK? On the Vegas Strip after a fight I’m surprised nobody got it on tape. I remember being nine on the cusp of defiance, rejecting all the heroes I was assigned in my sociology class. I told my teacher they were all murderers or murdered or make-believe, then I played her “Only God Can Judge Me” before she ran to the stereo and threw my cd in the trash. And that’s when I knew you were the hero I’d look up to, somebody not in the history books someone real I could grasp. And then I saw the news you had been shot you had been killed. Then I came back to school and my teacher just laughed. She said I should pick better heroes, somebody not as aggressive, someone on a much better path. Then I had to remind her of Malcolm of Martin of Huey of Fred of Medgar etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, and told her it didn't matter, black heroes don't seem to last. Who shot ya! Hey, Pac, what are we gonna do? How are they gonna find who kills us if they can’t find who killed you? I Wonder If Heaven Got A Ghetto, verse three you sounded something like a prophet. You predicted 20 years ago that police would be out here killing us and we couldn't do anything to stop it. You said, “cops give a damn about a negro, pull the trigger, kill a nigga he's a hero” and now, “the streets are death row.” The cops are judge, jury and executioner and apparently every bit of it’s legal. And I don't know if Heaven’s got a ghetto, but I know its got a long line and there’s some people waiting to get in that could use your comforting because we know Tupac cared when nobody else did. I’m sure we keep you busy up there, we’ll make sure you died for something. Who shot ya? Hey, Pac, your killer is still on the loose. I don’t know if you heard, but they got BIG too. They’re killing everybody that we looked up to. And I know there’s people who will hear this that won’t understand “He was a thug” “He got what he deserved” “His music should have been banned” And those are the same people who fear us when we band together in death. They mock us they incite us when we riot or protest. Who shot ya!? Hey, Pac, maybe it’s best we never know. Jokes on them because they will never be immortalized and you will forever be the hero.

Just trying to find the art I’m good at so I can make more of it.

“Don’t you write no poems about me”

“Boy, don’t you write no poems about me!  I’m not trying to wake up tomorrow and read me on your timeline, or see some words written on your wall about how you trying to fall in and out of love with me, I don’t wanna hear all that. Matterfact, you probably write a poem for everybody, huh? I bet they all feel like the one once you get to talking like you do, I know you. Well, you can save all that with me. You need to be asleep anyway, don’t be over there trying to come up with something poetic to put up on your tumblr about us in the morning.”

Lovers, Family, Friends + Strangers

We say goodbye, but no one ever leaves us.  They die on the outside, but still live within. Once we love them we become them, and all the people we’ve been with  become all the people we’ve been, and all the people we’ve been  become all the people we are. I know it’s hard to forget about them without losing a part of ourselves with it all. Can I love you and love all the other people you’ve loved? I wouldn’t know where to begin, but I’ve survived hurricanes much worse I’m sure I could weather again. It’s difficult to let go of old people we were when they’re the reasons why we are the crowd we’ve become, but I’ll try to calm the mob in you while adding to your parade, still careful to not let everyone you are  come undone.

Where Are You?

Please don’t leave me here with these people. I'm not of them. I won't love them. Take me with you when you go. I don’t recognize them. We don't speak the same language. They’re humid. They're dank.  They’re hollow. Don’t make me love them. I don’t want to. I just want you. I’ll be quiet on the road. I’ll love them if I have to but I’d never tell you I’d be too embarrassed to let you know. But tell me who will you love? Where will you go? Will it ever be as good? What will you do when they don't recognize you or they don't love you like they should? I’m right behind you. I’ll come and find you. Don’t be stubborn out there on your own. They love me here but it feels so empty. Don’t leave me here with them alone.

Where The Water Flows

See the river. Need the river. River wild. Tame the river. Want a city. Build a city. Flood the city. Blame the river. Build a wall. Hold it back. Keep it there. Dig it deep. Run a pipe. Get a drink. Water plants. River sleep. Board a ship. Travel north. Economics. Get in line. Hit a bridge. Sink the ship. Oil spill. Pay a fine. Snow melts. Up north. All that water. Coming down. High tide. Water rise. River crests. Leaving town. Higher walls. Deeper dredge. Levee breach. People drown. River mad. Eating land. Cypress trees. Can’t be found. Water flows. Downhill. Need a drink. Shit and piss. Flush the pot. To the lake. Don’t forget. Feed the fish. Oil and grease. Antifreeze. Down the drain. They don’t mind. Grab a pole. Cast it out. Catch a bite. Dinner time. Oil and grease. Fry it up. Kids say. It tastes funny. Wife sick. Healthcare. Plan canceled. No money. Take the kids. To the lake. Find a beach. Dive in. Fish stink. Sand sticky. Signs say. Don't swim. News says. Boil your water. After every time. It rains. House floods. Water dries. Do this all. Over again. River laughs. Lake cries. Travel West. Dry land. Build a house. In the hills. Fill your pool. Water plants. Never flood. Never rain. All the water. Drying up. River laughs. Lake too. Need a drink. Out of luck.

There are no pieces of you missing. The same way a tree doesn't miss its fruit when the farmers come for the harvest, neither should you worry about what parts of you are not there.

Lately I've Been Falling In Love

I try to fall in love at least once a week. Lately I’ve been falling in love with music and cities because people don’t always love you back the way you want them to. Instead of setting myself on fire, I’d rather buy a ticket to New York and fall in love with the view. Or listen to Coltrane and fall in love with the blues. Or run my finger across a map and fall in love with the idea of falling in love with someone new, somewhere new, in a place I’ve never been and in a language I’m not that fluent. But sometimes I can’t help myself and I still fall in love with you. All of you. Over and over again. I fall in love with the memories. I fall in love with the possibilities. I fall in love with cities I’ve never been to, like Montreal, or Paris, or Little Rock, Arkansas. I fall in love with new Prince songs I’ve never heard before. I fall in love with bad advice. I fall in love with that missing hour of sleep I lost last night. I fall in love with the people who love me every now and then just to see what that feels like. 

I asked her who she voted for in 2004, we were discussing politics and religion and that was the first election I was old enough to participate in. I said, Gore, she said that was the year she stopped believing in anything, but she still went to church just in case. She still voted in every election after that just to be safe because she didn’t want to be blamed when things went wrong, and things always went wrong. And knowing she wasn’t the reason why helped her sleep at night. I asked her how she’s been sleeping lately.

She asked, why do you put so much pressure on me to dream when I’m still stuck between feeling lost and feeling free? Forced to get along with those who arm themselves and dream of harming me. Sold me a house with a lawn and picket fence, but made copies of the key so you can come and go as I sleep at night and my dreams can be policed.

I told her I had been struggling with these dreams of my own, on the verge of packing up and selling everything I owned, but it was still too comfortable to pretend.

She told me I sounded like a politician campaigning for an election I knew I would never win, and American woke up a while ago and wasnt letting anymore new dreams in.

But I was just trying to get her attention…

On September 15th, 1970 the New Orleans chapter of the Black Panther Party held their ground in the Desire Housing Projects against law enforcement in a shootout that lasted over 30 minutes. At 8:00 am over 100 officers in military gear stormed down on the Panther’s headquarters located at 3544 Piety St. and unloaded gunfire in an attempt to eradicate the Black Panther Party from the State of Louisiana. Miraculously no one was killed in this standoff.

Law enforcement made another attempt to raid the headquarters on November 19, but thousands of Desire residents circled the building in a successful effort to protect the members and fend off another violent attack.

In August of 1971 all of the members were found not guilty.