The Illness

Been listening to/watching a lot of Chris Rock lately. In one of his performances he was talking about how "niggas love to not know". How African American men love to not know the answer to your question. It's funny, but true. It's part of what we call "keeping it real". As in, we think it's cool to not know, as in, if we did know we'd be fake. Fake as in intelligent instead of ignorant. So ignorance gets equated with being Black. This mindset is like a disease in our community, a sickness, the illness:

The Illness
Brothers better invest in books
instead of bootleg dvds
and the blueprint 3
we still maneuver through poverty
like it defines our culture
still jealous of the next man
playing Cain to one another
would probably slay Seth
instead of being role models
a whole generation fell to crack
left us broken like bourbon bottles
governmental serpents offered apples
so we ate
but that wasn’t american pie
that they put upon our plate
recorded undercover tapes
fed panthers poisonous grapes
word to the Hottentot Venus
Beyonce is getting raped
but we’re so scarred on the boulevard
we fall blind to the times
playing servant at nine to fives
playing lives of the rich and famous
while only gaining dimes
playing Barnum and Bailey
or better yet, playing the circus
cause how many niggas you gon’ fit in that suburban
looking like a clown car
should’ve got a joint at half the price
and invested the other half
brothers love counting money
but never do the math
so the poverty doubles back
and you end up on the ave
betrayed by all those brothers
who never chipped in on gas
instead of ballin’ out
should’ve been up in classshould’ve been off in some literature
but little Black children
are only trained to be funny
trained to be musical
by the teenage years we know how to scuffle
to overcome that most choose to hustle
we buy and sell on the block
but never buy and sell stock
never flipped america’s lies
never realized how white parents
buy their kids mutual funds
and teach them about wall street
years before they can drive a car
behind, we find out ten years later
what they learn at age 18
we learn at 28
so the wealth comes to us
at a much slower rate
we pass down bad spending habits
credit card debt, and penny jars
still maneuvering through poverty
like it defines our culture
never discussing multinational corporations
and global economics with each other
the average bottom boy will never see the Eiffel tower
will never know why James Baldwin traveled abroad
and how Black soldiers felt when they came back from Vietnam
the average bottom boy won’t make it through school
we say education ain’t cool
reading books ain’t cool
knowledge ain’t cool
our society praises fools
and looks down on the college graduate
the Black graduate student
the Black professor
we call them sellouts
tell em they talk proper
tell them they’re trying to be white
but Malcolm was educated
Malcolm read books
and Malcolm wasn’t no Uncle Tom
Malcolm defined Blackness
but what defines Blackness today?

Whole Foods by Christopher K.P. Brown

Born and raised on single parent lands
bottom boys because we didn’t inherit grands
from our grands, understand
poverty stayed in constant rotation like second hands
what kept us cool
love circulated like kitchen fans
eating cornbread and cabbage
hash and black eyed peas
those days long gone
I’m thinking Ph.Ds
conversations with my grandmother
the other end of the phone
I’m tryna explain
why I stopped eating neckbones
stopped eating pork chops
don’t even won’t bacon in my greens
ain’t running from my culture
I’m running from heart disease
daddy died of diabetes
granddaddy did too
giving myself insulin shots
ain’t what I’m tryna do
plus I don’t like needles
hate taking pills
when waiters ask about desert
I say, naw, just bring the bill
can’t afford cheesecake
nor apple pie a la mode
mint chocolate chip
I’d like to eat the whole bowl
but I’m tryna preserve my health
tryna preserve my wealth
I’ll eat anything for free
but I won’t sponsor my death
I said, grandmother, I love you
I just hope you understand
I’m just tryna improve
tryna become a better man
tryna stay healthy
so I don’t have to pay for pills
wish I could invest all of that money
I’ve seen you spend on hospital bills
I know it’s southern hospitality
you show your love through soul food
I guess times are changing though
I’ll take my kids to whole foods
all that extra money
that wasn’t spent on doctors and meds
I’ll take it and buy stock
take it and buy land
so financially, family will be straight for generations
both money and love
will be in constant rotation
I said, grandmother, that’s the plan
I just won’t your great grandkids
to inherit grands from their grands,
understand.

Say Hello (Poem)

Say Hello

Say hello to my home, my hood
Where helicopters hover over
The holy shout hallelujah
Half pints question Jehovah
holding heat in one hand
holding pennies in the other
the pennies held holds
no heroes, they say we hopeless
our heroes turned hypocrite
like the haters of hip hop
who complain but
don’t buy quality albums
when they drop
would even hate on a poet
if that poet went pop
wouldn’t realize who’s shot
if this poet ever went pop

Say hello to the bad guy
who really ain’t bad
but when the bad fake as good
then the good must fake as bad
just to separate themselves
from the ones who are bad in real life
I mean them poets
who never even respect the mic
til they step upon the stage
never studied e.e. cummings
so their poems suck on page
while k.p. speaks of longevity
when it comes to my destiny, it was written
this is more than me spittin
I’m recycling a talent that God has already given
did I mention my purpose

Say hello to my home, my hood
where I scribble in scripts described by other scribes
Dr. Asante said we should never call them tribes
cause it’s demeaning to the place where we left our pride
inside the city my folks is still living true lives
working two jobs with one hustle on the side
copping the two piece with mashed potatoes on the side
pushing two strollers with one baby on her side
feeding three seeds with no husband by her side
still don’t twice about letting brothers come inside
long as they come around on weekends and put gas in her ride
she doesn’t have a favorite poet
doesn’t come to open mics
but every few shows
I hear these poets that relate to her life
and “come on sister, where’s your self-respect?”
her self-respect is in our poems
it’s just that our poems are in the wrong place
our messages are dislocated
from the masses in our communities
disconnected so say hello.