Stars (mic check 1,2 1,2)

Danielle Cochran

 

silver lining show me signs of the sun
if everyone is a star at the beginning of the tipping point
do they fall to the roots
streaking across open spaces
between air and earth
making wishes upon themselves
hoping they come true
somewhere between possibility and dead ends
some things come through
prayers are mic checks of 1,2 1,2
where the volume is amplified cause
cries of the youth brings more distortion to static
where repentance is just a relentless lie to the truth
scared to face
fear is a mind killer and the tales of the paint
used for war is the gore of the innocent ripped
dripping blood in stripes represent how far
one is willing to go to bring a nation down
but depression is a cloud covering confrontation
anxiety beats out the tribal sound
there is no art to war
when everyone dies and none see the finished picture
aesthetics is exiled
where even kings get checked
when life traps you in moves
bobbi fisher chess style
I textile my pain in words
to be read when I'm blinded
reminded that instead of no understanding
i'm demanding freedom from this situation
facing my own inner demons
poems became exorcism with the intentions
letting go of the pain
piercing through doubts
when the shadows of life arise
where there are no suns
but a star is an aspiration we reach for

returning from fighting
to be immersed in battles of democracy of others
locked in a skin cell
looking for a key
the term mc has been adapted, revised then re-edited
void of subject nouns of the same serve as the predicate
rhetoric has changed
so postmodern mc stands for
my concern
many characters
may cause more calamity
my children's manipulated consciousness
mangled creativity
minds curse morbid choices
as steady lynch mobs
hang our children in masses in superficial nooses
burning them in gasoline soaked white tees
charred skeletons stomped to dust
leaving air force one imprints in dust
niggas wit attitudes will be the last poets
since tampon record contracts got minstrel rappers flowless

mic check 1,2 1,2
pretty battles of the mind
have us beautifully struggling for quality
picketing policies to stop the production
of piss poor performances which catch
thoughts in brain wash dry and spin
since the best vocalist is always silent
society supplies bullets for our homeland insecurity assassins
placing the gun of dream killers at critical entry points
the electric chair now fits in Sony headphones
killing you slowly with audio voltage
subliminal head nods
acknowledges to God that
the bear keeps you from seeing the sky
because now music and multimedia screens hold the stars we reach for
talks of fame while we travel over gravels of libations
of blood of hood celebrities on the walk of shame
visions of the street heat the earth cause everyone wants to be the sun
will winter ever come when we negate to relocate to space and be a star
to the see the universe as possibility
and making wishes upon ourselves to shine
mic check 1,2 1,2

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