It's all just perceptive intake really, this shit we so eagerly call life. So many drudge along, so few yanking strings that hung the ancestors of brown bodies. Personally my perception seems like a polite bit of pessimism, though the crown does nothing but weigh my head down. The crown mad heavy, the jewels may shine but they make me dense. I feel different I am different, I cry at poems but find myself dry eyed at funerals. I get goosebumps at below 32 yet not when Eartha Kitt blesses the air with vibrations so heavenly I could smell residual love sent from the past through the time traveling tool that is my headphones. Plugged into my ears taking away all my troubles. Found peace, in this perception. I still struggle, but I found piece. Tucked away in the waistband of a self proclaimed soldier boy. A 22 millimeter middle finger plucked you in your temple and I saw the coward in your eyes as the red stained my tim boots. But they never found the same piece as you, hopefully you found it above the clouds after it sent you there. Hopefully you'll be above the clouds rain dancing the rain away from all our cookouts and gatherings two stepping the turmoil tens of decades away. Sending it toward the pillowcase predators or the snakes in slim fit suits. But when you find your new homeland make sure you never forget your first language, that hard r vernacular. Never forget the language built off the backs of slaves and the fronts of our favourite child rappers. Abra cadabra-ing vowels and consonants into mere wishes and formalities if we decide to use them. Don't ask the man upstairs if there's a seat ask him is it a seat for you. Don't ask your heavenly homies if they're down for hobnobbing ask them niggas if they trynna chill. But shit, that's just how I see it.
