“I am a body searching for
thirst in Egyptian catacombs.
The earth is round and flat, like science, then round then flat like faux butts and every man will return to my mother’s womb with a score card on how they treated her Sun.
“It won’t matter then.”
You’re just a worm and life is an apple rotting in your mind and love can lie and die because open lips can keep secrets.
And my brother,
he will turn against his younger brother because money means everything to people who grew up without enough love. To us, war means profit because nothing is for free. Lonely people exist too because pride is a good thing and it costs us small truths hidden in hugs.
I know, because I know things that mean nothing to me.
e.g., I know life is a meaningless death sentence because I don’t care much about no-thing.
Maybe holding M.’s face when I get home because I hate people who take life and kissing seriously. I hate people who chew loudly because people who smack their lips after sipping tea act like presidents.
I hate some perfumes after lunch because I hate old grannies with bras on they breasts, like who you wanna impress tonight, Ol’ Empress?
I don’t like careless women because I don’t like people who
Though in my worst fears,
sometimes when drugs don’t work,
I do murmur something to the stars and wait for an answer. In between silence, I find purpose to say fuck life, fuck people and move on because I hate being told to put god first if I want to succeed.
I want to put myself first.
I don’t like things
I don’t like.
I don’t like people
liking things I like.
I like people I can control. Like a diss song, a verse because I can, like Kendrick Lamar’s music as a vanity slave like most blacks who cope a little bit of change in they post-slavery jeans pockets that sag 3 stories down, down, when it all falls down.
I like people who don’t make their bed after sex because I like people who don’t worship people and things.
I like to go days without taking a bath because the smell of my armpits and mouth I like my stinky breath in the morning too. I like to see people block their nose while talking to me because it means I’m in charge and if I wasn’t handsome you won’t be kissing my belly button anyway.
Baby, think. Think of all the stupid things you have done for love. How you create caves in your soul to shelter other people’s dreams. People who walk into your heart with dark umbrellas and then shit on it and wipe their bottoms with your swollen tongue. It’s annoying that most sad love songs are sung by men. We can kill for love because missiles and bullets and arrows are shaped like dicks.
I like to see this emptiness and how people make it through it. It is sad. The faces of these children. It is sad. The fate of some African communities. It is sad people can live like this and afford to smile when another baby is born like it’s hope re-born like it’s another job born like it’s another masters degree on they CVs. I wanted to weep. Jesus wept.
I always want to cry when I visit hospitals. It doesn’t mean I’m lucky to be alive and well. And I hate it when people say they’re lucky to be alive and well. That’s selfish and stupid. You’re not lucky or unlucky, asshole. You just are. You’re fucked in one way or another. That’s why you have at-least two holes in your body; drink and smoke. and fall in love. and look for jobs. No normal and happy person smokes and drinks. and falls in love. or has two bullet holes. and looks for jobs. These are______for sad people.
Sand people on lakes of prejudice and they like loud music. And I hate live concerts because they are boring and repetitive and performers yell too much into the microphones. And I hate being told to put my hands up because I didn’t buy a ticket to be told what to with my hands by an MC with studio debt. My hands are okay in my pockets, you dimwit. And guitars are too loud and hollow in live concerts. Fuck pop music.
Fuck anything many people love.
Like some presidents and some residents.
Many people are stupid.
Many stupid people in a group are devils.
I hate groups…
I want to be alone…
to masturbate to Lauryn Hill’s dreadlocks…
to think. unthink
to tweet/to do it/
To write it without worrying about the self-induced smartassness urban writers brag about and they ain’t even self-published. I just want to. I just want to be. To get.
To get bored with life. To type shit like this and read it in open mics.”