I’m the child hip hop forgot.
Jazz didn’t remember and funk gave up on.
The one that pushed the limits further than they should.
Who treated the beat like it was my first love and go back every once in a while just to make sure you remember.
Telling the melody lies to make it seem sweeter than honey.
Harmonizing with that background.
Trying to be different when no one can tell I am.
What you see is the same a cookie cutter idea of what I should be.
That backpack full of lyrics that only you and your ears hear.
That bic pen that’s been out of ink for a day too long.
Those expensive headphones that you thought would bring the music full circle.
Dealing with your worldly issues one track after another
Playing play-lists filled with music you only listen to when you deal with drama
Shuffling between those, “Bitches ain’t shit and single for the night songs”
Trying to make heads or tails of what a single song is
Equating someones drug hustle to that 9-5 you work with those good white folk benefits
While you hear hustle hard…your mouth says please and thank you
While you say fuck the police… you say whats up to security
That music…that music that makes your situation change
while you sit back and reflect how how you wished things changed
And then the song ends and your back to square one
Silent like the hiss of that old cassette
Until you press play and everything starts to make sense again
2 months ago
/ Notes
