Ima write this for the smokers, for the drinkers, for the tobacco slinging hash grilling grit eating, down right savage brothers and sisters, with the suede in their cadillacs, with the spinning rims, with the timberlands, dem timbs. Deadass, Ima write this for the playas, for the suave, for the chivalrous men, for the brave women, the dont talk smack to me women, the dont play me women, the I wish a brutha would sistas. Damn, I love ya. Ima write this for the Heights, for the motherland, for that 125th and Amsterdam, Harlem. Ima write this for my pops, rest in peace. Ima write this for my mother, she’s my peace. Ima write this myself. For the cuddly bastards. Im writing this for the youngest me, the younger me.
Tell ’em Lawd. Tell ’em you blessed me with that ether, that shit that make your soul burn slow. I said yes Lawd. I pray in poetry, cause my body too old for twenty fo’. Give them Bibles in poetic verse. I write about this woman alot. I mean I love this woman. I mean I love her cosmology. You made her in your image. Me? Im Lucifer’s son. I bear Light better than the Fallen. I am the Light.
I don’t pray on knees, hands clasped like slavery, I don’t do that shit Lawd. But forgive me, I write for you. Words in your image. I make words as beautiful as you.