#blakc

hit me in the chest like a pandemic 

spreading up my bronchi mixing with the smoke of the last blunt 

assaulting my trachea while the melodies of the high set in 

tones of mellow accented by the spaces in time left deficient of anything but a familiar cough

reminding me that the poems don’t give a fuck who’s expecting what where when or how 

like this bitch down the block Rona don’t give a fuck about who’s expecting what out of life

like she musta thought she was God walking round LAUGHING at our plans 

like have you ever told God your plans 

and watched him shit all over them-

like maybe I’m allowed to question everything sometimes just to get through the day 

and still-

I pray that the sun comes up

 the day after the music dies

but am afraid my feet may no longer be

dancing to the spirit of the war cries 

General Lamar screaming

it's gone be alright!”

pumping through my veins-

still I strain to lessen the pain of minds restrained then dumped in cages

days of memes and video-games

now look who’s in the simulation 

cognizant of the omnipresence of the yuck 

the cooties 

the achoo shit

and “please wash your hands” 

like how I have never thought about my elbows this hard before in my life 

like now we all fired so how cool is your new job in the industry post grad   

its like  Brady made a drunk bet he would leave when the world ended and it did 

And we still talking bout toilet paper!?

We talkin bout toilet paper

not a game

toilet paper 

white moms telling younger versions of me I have an exotic accent is preferable 

I see now that plans should always be prepared for an audible  

its audible the silence that’s left in the speakers

if we don’t speak now forever hold your minds pieces 

peace of mind so divine

it leaves onlookers speechless

This chemical brain fodder is in some cases 

Needless

I speak on the subjects they cram into need based 

Communities 

that crumble when white people seize them 

Desisting 

Resisting

Persisting

Insisting

Now-

How you look that we all fucked up

Can't toss a virus in the back of a garbage truck

Pour some dirt over it 

Call that a government cover up

Regardless 

The silence is left in the Rona zone 

and home girl doesn’t know how to stay in her lane

caught me incapable of feeling more mundane 

till the New Yorricans could emerge again

dominoes on the sidewalk 

breakin on the pavement 

Salsa en el club 

that abuela was always tellin me about

and the sun convincing me to be as brilliant as I could 

in whatever I could 

until I could no longer stand it

and that's a summer night in New York -

It’s like a pandemic 

Like it comes out of nowhere

like a poem

spreads up your chest 

and strangles the truth out of your tongue