Wednesday, August 21, 2013

cotton chase

They are just waving above
Just puppeteers in light shoves
Praying too dark to be ignored
Slight taps on the floor
While we are Bojangles with pierced toes
Sharp taps on our shoes
Knowing the only way to tame us was to claim the truth

Lets dress up like freedom
Watching them niggas come flockin
Cause you know how they love to believe that they got something
love to believe that words mean something
how ironic
with such a fear for books
such a love for instant gratification
lets dress up like dead white men on cotton
i bet they come flockin
i bet they dont know they be dyin for it
they dont know we still whippin them
still got them ensalved
braggin bout they paper chase
printed on the reaping of slaves
they claim they understand
because they finally learned how to keep they hands
we finally learned how to keep em dirty
street recipes for riches
street niggas turn snitches
and snitches get stitches
in wood boxes
lets help them kill each other
give them crack
colored bandanas
street corners
let them think they own it all
and watch them fall
as we take it back

©, 2013, Tiffany "Spokenheart" Shack

Wednesday, January 30, 2013


"There's no money in poetry, but theirs no poetry in money, either"
                                                                      -Robert Graves

Art is for the poor and the broken
like Jesus
like salvation
like the only reason i'm living
like sometimes i scribble poetry across my skin and confuse it for veins
i confuse my scattered thoughts for breathing
confused my words for meaning
I guess im confused
I thought I used my tongue was used for saving