The Journal of an Angry Black Man

"Better You Than Me" Maybe you can help me better understand Why you act like a little boy and not a grown ass man You try to run the TV, all day stuck on BOUNCE And you're a fiend for the coffee, always begging for an ounce You've claimed more than once all you do is "get money" But I see you in here with nothing, so something is funny At the top of your lungs you holler and yell But make an excuse for your behavior, saying "This is jail." You've got 6 kids, and 4 baby mamas But you beg me for a click so you can call and cause drama. You claim to be hard, snatching ass every day But you expect me to be polite in all that I say You're on your way back to prison and it's so sad to see But I'd rather it be you going up the road than me.

"Salute To Dallas" Two brothers killed by police again A few protests, but no nationwide outrage Five cops shot dead in the Lone Star state All week it's been on every papers' front page They kill us when we resist arrest They kill us when we comply They killed Freddie Gray and Sandra Bland My people protest, but they as why The sad thing is that this is nothing new We've seen this so many times before They've been lynching us one way or another Since we were brought to America's shores They choked a brother for selling loosies Shot another 16 times for carrying a knife They have all the guns that money can buy But swear they're always in fear of their life They all take oaths to "serve and protect" But for Black people that's not the case We are wrongly profiled and executed And it's obviously all about race It's open season and we're the game They are hunting us like it's a sport We can't g

"Missing My Beyonce" I'm over it. I'm so upset. He Beyhive must be going crazy! The queen has returned, and she's mad as hell. And she's dishing all the dirt about Jay Z. I haven't heard the album yet Because my ass is in the Regional locked up. But I got a track list, and can't wait to hear "Pray You Catch Me" and "Hold Up". My bro sent me some of the lyrics to the songs, And it's only increased my appetite. I'm in jail, literally feenin' for "Freedom" And I know all too well about "All Night". I'm missing my girl, Beyonce Gisselle, And I need a radio like quick. So I can turn up to "Don't Hurt Yourself" Where she's talking about bouncing to the next dick! If I knew March 14h what I know now I'd have never surrendered to incarceration 'Cause I could still be out there (a fugitive though), Watching all the late hoes try to get in "Formation"

"Aubrey Jade" Hey baby girl, it's Uncle B And you were on my mind, So I wrote you a little something (just for you) Because you are truly one of a kind. I only got to meet you once Before I went away But your mommy keeps me updated And you're top of the list when I pray. You came into this world fighting And you'll win I have no doubt Because you come from a long line of strong women Who show up, show off, and show out! I cannot wait to buy you stuff Cute clothes, jewelry and toys And at some point, when you're old enough I'll help your daddy chase away the boys. You're the baby in a family That had so much love to give. We laugh and joke, and sing real loud And eat well, because that's just how we live! You have a beautiful big sister,  And a cool big brother, too. And a basketball team full of cousins Who are all madly in love with you! And you even have me, your Uncle B To remind you t

"Sickest Vernacular" Some niggas aspire to be drug dealers Or maybe ball players or rappers. But me, I just want to write and be well-known As the Nigga with the sickest vernacular. I won't waste my life chasing fortune or fame Or cars and jewelry, that's whack! But I'd rather spend it by finding my purpose, Speaking truth, being real, and giving back. A decade from now some 20 year old May read through a journal I wrote, And instead of being depressed and choosing suicide He finds reason to hold on and have hope. Wouldn't it be great if a father was able To make room in his heart for his gay son After reading a letter that I penned to God He gained compassion where he previously had none. I just want my life to mean something And to enrich someone's day with my words They say life and death is in the power of the tongue So I'll choose wisely my adjectives and verbs One day a grandmother will sit her grandson down And tell him

"Thirty-Six Days" Thirty-six days, I've been in this cell. No end in sight from what I can tell. My mouth brought me here, and my "aggressive tone". But I injured no one, not skin, hair or bone. I pray to their god, but he does not hear. And I've cried so much, I have no more tears. How did less than one minute of words filled with rage End up with me here like some dog in a cage? Me being punished, that's not what I'm mad about. It's the keeping of secrets about when I'll be let out. This is cruel and unusual and I'm mad as hell. Thirty-six FUCKING days I've been in this cell. My mind is eroding, trying to figure out why Why they've put me in here, in this box, alone to die. I promised my mother my life I would not take. But that might be the last promise I'll ever make or have to break. I can't keep this up, my soul is on E. Where is there god? Why doesn't he hear me? I pray every night, lik

"Hearing Voices" The counselor asked if I'm hearing voices I almost said, "What the fuck do you think?" I'm stuck in here alone, with this dirty ass floor And a toilet attached to the sink. But instead I play cool, remain calm And say, "I take it day by day." But the truth is I'm scared, and paranoid as shit In my mind I'm screaming "I AM NOT OKAY!" Of course I hear voices, and not just these fools Who yell at each other through steel doors. Maybe its demons, or spirits, or ghosts. But it ain't my voice and it sure as hell ain't yours. Consider this though, I'm locked in this cell With no one else that I can talk to. The voices intrigue me and they make me think. Hell, I get more help from them than from you. They don't try to trick me, or rush me along Or skip to "Do you feel like harming yourself?" They help me pen letters, and order canteen And remind me to take care of my healt

"So Close, So Far" Being inside this jail seems so far away But I'm so close to The Manor I can feel it. If I could somehow get outside and yell "Aunt Bert" On a calm day I know she would hear it. I miss the green grass, and taking out the trash And my friends who I could walk and go see. My walks are no more, instead of grass, concrete floors And I'm starting to think niggas forgot about me. From my tiny slim window I can view the pine trees And the cars that pass on Elmhurst Lane. And at night I can see the lights over on Victory Where business at WaWa goes on just the same. I miss Nero Drive, and Armfield Road, too Because that's where my husband still resides. He writes, sends pictures, and we talk on the phone But my heart wants to see him with my own eyes. I miss my dog Seti, and his childish ways And even the mischief he creates. I miss hearing him bark, running wild at the dog park And especially the faces he makes.