hood rat

"my life is in the ghetto,
it's where I's born and raised.
how's a simple hood rat s'posed to get out of this maze?"

don't blame it on the ghetto,
that's not what keeps you here.
why you crying hood rat?
dry those self indulgent tears.

you need reminding hood rat,
many years have gone and come.
do you forget your ancestors and the battles that they won?

people died in search of liberty.
you can vote, you're free to learn,
but their memory you've tarnished
your hard earned rights rejected--spurned.

what is it you're afraid of?
that maybe they were right,
are you a worthless waste of matter-
another useless social blight?

"why should i vote? why should i fight?
the man still keeps me down."
does the man not do your homework?
does the man dress you like a clown?

"don't be hatin' on my culture,
don't be hatin' on my clothes."
why should i respect your peoples
when you call your sisters hos?

oh you silly little hood rat
let me assuage your fears
and remind you of the time that's passed,
it's been 200 years

frontin' like a gangster,
acting ignorant and smug.
don't come crying on my shoulder
when they treat you like a thug.

who am i to judge your lifestyle?
how you live is personal,
but when you reject your own potential
all your arguments are null.

so there's a switchblade in your pocket.
so your mom's a hood rat wife.
why fulfill this cursed prophecy?
why be a hood rat all your life?

living in the ghetto doesn't make or break a man.
it's the choices that you make that determines if "you can".

so before you blame the system,
why don't you take a second look
forget the bling, the grills, the rims
and read a f***ing book.

under threat of deportation*

ko pi** talk

Doesn’t matter what they call you-

whether Migukin** or your name

Cause to them you’re still a waygukin**

To them we’re all the same.

To be a wayguk in Korea

is a double- edged sword

You’ll never want for chingus**

If your time they can afford

“Please friend,” they’ll say

“besides the chance to make a couple won,

why do you fly so far from home?

Why exactly do you come?”

These questions that they ask me,

I often ask myself the same.

They want to be enlightened

and so I tell them why I came

To waste my education

As i share this verbal pox.

To feed my own pretensions

spreading Westocentric thought

We sell this gift we call a skill.

Like teaching how to walk-

Imagine being paid

for simply knowing how to talk.

“if this is how you really feel

can you please tell me why-

why are you in my country

with a conscience so denied?”

Some come for love of money,

Some come for the cheap booze

Some come for the shopping-

though they can’t buy any shoes.

We come for many reasons-

no two stories are the same.

Some come for an adventure,

Others fleeing from the pain.

“Friend you tell me tales of others

but it’s yours I want to hear,”

I came so I could see the world,

I stayed for the cheap beer.

---

*the title has absolutely nothing to do with content of the poem. i was forced under threat of deportation asked to write a few poems for a wayguk event held by my recruiting agency. like most of my poetry it isn't so much a reflection of my personal experience but a compilation of different wayguk perspectives thrown into one convenient self indulgent "poem".

--

**And now for a brief lesson in basic Korean

kopi = coffee (not to be confused with ko pi which means nose bleed)

Migukin= American

waygukin= foreigner

chingu= friend

Hot Air

Don't come looking here to borrow
I've none here left to spare.
I can't get my mind around them-
My thoughts are all up in the air.

My mundane thoughts are asinine,
I prattle like a fool
The incoherent musings of a philosophic mule.

I search in vain to find them,
must i forfeit the joys of prose-
To drown 'neath gross ineptitude
as the pounding silence grows?

As russet patted choughs take flight and madly sweepe the sky
So too my frenzied thoughts and words away from me do fly.

Could I tie a piece of string to them so that they could not stray?
Could I hold them tightly in my palm so they could not get away?

I can't tell you how this makes me feel,
my pen just lies in wait
as I build a trap I can't describe
so my words cannot escape.

Where have all the black people gone?

I look down streets and alleys,
and behind every closed door.
They aren't in any restaurants
can't find them in the stores.

I strain my ears to hear them
I strain my eyes to search,
but i don't see my brotha
their skin's all white as birch.

I know they must exist somewhere,
I can hear their pounding beats.
The rhythms of the motherland,
I hear hip-hop in the streets.

If only i could find someone to ask them where to go.
where can i find a negro - someone darker than the snow?

what happened to the nigga-men that paved these city streets?
were they erased from history by bigots dressed in sheets?

Did they sail off to Africa? Did the tall ships take them back?
cause of all the folks I've seen today not a single one was black.

when to my left i hear it,
a soft and lonesome cry.
it's not to me she's talking,
but i hear her question "why?"

"why after centuries have passed,
why after all these years,
why when i walk through my hometown
do people stop and leer?"

I see her in the corner
but somethings no quite right.
it seems as if she might be black,
but her skin is awfully white.

what happened to you sista?
was it the plague or pox
that washed out your chestnut skin and straightened out your locks?

"what happened to me sista?
are you as dumb as they?
nothing happened to me sista,
i was born this way.

what makes your skin so chocolate
is the same that makes mine light.
God put this colour on me
and He thinks i look alright.

If you're lookin' for some coloured folk
get your head out of the ground,
your so blinded by a colour scheme
you can't see what's all around.

what exactly are you looking for?
a place where you fit in?
a person's worth is in the heart
not painted on their skin.

people come in different shades,
red, white, yellow, black and brown
when we stop lookin' at colour
only then can love abound."

I search through all the faces
my quest now seems absurd.
Was this the voice of reason
or the voice of God I heard?

I still wonder where the black folk are
'cause I know they must be here.
How can a race of people just up and disappear?

But it doesn't really matter if I can't find my kin,
why pledge allegiance to a group based on the colour of one's skin

where're you from?

since my people came here many years have gone and come
but when i walk through my home town people ask me where i'm from.
"Canada" i answer is where i'm born and raised
But ignorance is what these fools will carry to their graves.

'But really man, where are you from?
what strange foods do you eat?'
'Your face, it doesn't look like mine.
What language do you speak?'

i enunciate and say it slow, "i am Canadian".
But they can never understand so they just smile and grin.
They ask me in another way, "Where were your parents born?"
But the only answer i can give brings ridicule and scorn.
'my family is Canadian' i firmly answer back.
"That can't be true you foolish girl, your skin is clearly black."

So i turn the tables on them, I ask them where they're from.
"Newfoundland," they tell me "tried and true Canadians".
I ask them of their parents,
"Newfie bloodlines through and through".
Their voices proud as if to say, "i'm more Canadian than you".

They think their family's history surpasses that of mine,
but Newfoundland joined Canada in 1949.
"My family came on tall TALL ships, sales blowing in the wind
stolen, bruised and bloodied for the colour of their skin."
Their blue eyes lock they share a smile I"ve seen many times before
They think i should be humble downcast eyes upon the floor.

Cause no matter what i tell them, there's nothing i can say,
To them i'm just a visitor who'll go "home" someday.
There is no use in fighting. Why bother to implore?
so i take my pride and chocolate skin and calmly leave the store.

"how sweet," they say behind my back,
"she wants to be like us."
"we're open minded people,
let her sit where she wants on the bus."
___________________

this is in no way meant to insult or otherwise "pick on" newfies. it just so happen that they were the last province to join confederation.

waxing poetic

I have no questions left to ask
no answers have i heard.
i flip the pages blindly
but i'm looking for a Word

No direction and no calling,
i sit still and wait.
in search of signs from heaven
for You must know my fate.

The world around is silent
so i close my eyes and pray
i hear no quiet voice,
will i ever find my way?

Though patience must be practiced
doubt is lurking in my mind,
what am i chasing after?
will i reach the finish line?

Still no answers to my questions.
i'm still sitting in the cold.
the world around still silent,
the future still untold.

As i stand to leave and join the rest lost within the crowd...
i see our blurred reflection in a puddle on the ground.

finger painting [midnight thoughts.]

i'm feeling like an etch- a -sketch
the way your fingers move me.
twirling, spinning
twisted inside.

look at me. what do you see?
is it me you love
or something that you've made?
we've created something new.

pushing, pulling all the right buttons
you know how to turn me
on.

forever marked by the touch of your hands
until i am shaken
by your callous disregard
then everything is erased
forgotten
until you touch me again
gentle hands
drawing on me
drawing me in.

Comment dit-on " Hung Over"?

is this the land of Kubla Khan, where magic dwells, and love is spawned?
to find this land of love and lust you need not drugs or pixie dust.
your heart it marks the pass of time
it swells with passion, joy and wine.

the beat that drives you marches on
there is no rest; there is no dawn.
yet still you smile and laugh and play
you smirk at what the neighbours say.

the nights are long,
the air is heady
intoxified your mind is weary.
one day, a month, it's all the same
you'll lose yourself; forget your name.

a phantom voice, from days of yore
beckons from behind closed doors.
lost between the maze of walls
you feel it's story; hear it's call.

you'll stand upon the mountain top
and wait for all the world to stop.
your body reels your mind is weaving
cause come the dawn you know you're leaving.

leaving this whole world behind
to join the rest trapped in real time.
but i'm not sad, i've no regrets
there is none other like Québec.

----------------
i'm a little behind on my blogging, i went to Quebec city a few weeks ago, here are my impressions.
btw, i was not drunk. the title of this entry will make more sense after i write my next blog.

my heart - Feb 22/06

i feel like i am floating.

my heart is breaking as we speak.

the separation of spirit and mind, my body feels so weak.

a crushing wave of throbbing pain

i cannot touch the floor.

twice this week my faith's been tested

i can't take it anymore.

to redeem the lies of another i placed my trust in you

but now my eyes are clouded,

tears stuck, i am unglued.

standing alone my hands are shaking

i never would have thought it true.

disoriented- my world is breaking

i choke on thoughts of you.



---
this is not poetry for poetry's sake, nor is it very good. it is a cathartic release. now i know how i feel. the end.




end note: to clear up any confusion or foolish assumptions this poem is not about the person mentioned in the previous blog.