spokenwordpoet

Shepherdless

Now this is a generation that was meant to be heard

But it’s like shepherds trade their sticks for whips to beat youth with tongue lashes

We’re a blind herd trying to be led safely to our caskets

Our dreams weigh clouds down to earth

They burst and fill the sky with bright lights of visions just like fireworks

A colourful release of breath to give life to a once dead generation

Choked up in need of the Heimlich

Blown into the winds of desperation

Colours of the aurora borealis setting fire to idle minds

Their fingertips feel alive like an 87 year old woman cured from arthritis

Your bones feel ignited

Ambition is resuscitated

No chance of a reoccurring indictment

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Prodigy

I wasn’t born a prodigy, gifted or advanced for my level

Neither was I born with any delay

That they could say hindered my progress or ability to convey simple concepts understood by other kids my age

The challenge is seeing students be extraordinary and complimented on their brilliance and seeing kids doing poorly and neglected for their blatant disregard for the system set in place that only regards his marks and can’t put a name to his face

My apologies to the “they” in whom I should find fear in but

I cannot commit to the conformity

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Our Buried Lives

This is the first poem I fully finished and performed. It was for a black history month assembly at my high school when I was in grade 11. I performed it at school and at a church.

Refuse to just exist

I refrain from living in bondage

But I’m breathing in these daily fumes of discouragement and disappointment

And my lungs keep gasping

Waiting for relief to breathe normally

But my heart’s giving to many second chances

It’s to late to finally live when I’m buried in a casket

Still begging and asking

God what have I done to deserve this predicament

But I’m still too focused on this life that I’m comfortably sitting in

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