IMG_1879-lrI’m sickwitit
Sometimes my eyes can’t help but cry
The saline solution
To my compromised constitution
The real revolution
Begins with a tear
Not that political shit
Fed by fear
I’m through with carrots and sticks
Save those for the rabbits and runners
The bangers and gunners
My soul refuses to give in
To that back spin cycle of violence
So many call home
I am NOT on loan
To the State or anyone

I am the son
Of a merchant marine
Who fled the scene
When I was 12 years old
Leaving a hole in my heart
Big enough to drive a truck through
I wish I could just say “Fuck you”
But it’s more complicated than that
It might take me a lifetime
To find the right rhyme
For that track

So I step back
For a minute
And collect my thoughts
I wonder how you slept that night
You heard that I’d been shot
In a hospital bed 15 minutes from your place
You didn’t even have the courage then
To let me see your face

I’m 21 years old now
And my bullet wounds have healed
A hard scar up my belly
But I’ve learned how to feel
And my feelings brought me back to this
As much as I tried to resist
With every high and lie and kiss
To ease the pain of loneliness
That claimed me like you never could
If my last name rings a bell — well — it should.

-Bashir Richard