Thursday, September 18, 2014

Pretty Face

Ok, you have a pretty face; so what?
…Seriously, so what?

If all a man loves you for is a pretty face, 
you better hope he never travels to Brazil for business. 
Because if he does, the air ambulance are 
probably going to have to emergency airlift 
your heart back to America, on the account 
of it being broken into thousands of pieces. 

Sorry I have to be the bearer of bad news, 
but a pretty face is a dime a dozen, baby girl. 
And that will only keep a man happy for so long.

if you have a spirit that makes your 
eyes look like two moonlit bonfires; 
dreams that compliment your imagination; 
a soul as strong and shapeshifting as water; 
then its no doubt in my mind that a woman’s 
pretty face is the 8 wonder of the world.

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Book of my Life

I hope the book of my life is so 
out of this world that aliens read it.
That right now on some distant planet 

light-years away they’re lining up to 

pre-order copies of it from God.
Anxiously counting down the days left until 
I drop dead and the book finally hits shelves.
I hope its good enough for the alien thieves to pirate it; 

For the booksellers in outer space to strike it rich; 

For the fanatics to send fan mail back to earth in packages 

of shooting stars.
If so…that would mean I lived.

Monday, September 15, 2014

Birth of a Poem

My heart and brain are like two old married couple. 

One minute they’re reminiscing 
about the first time they fell in love. 
And the next, 
they’re swearing like drunken sailors 
and threatening each other with divorce papers.
They usually do this for a solid 10 minutes 
and then it dies down with them bickering 
about how they regret the last twenty years 
together, and that true love is as much of a myth 
as time travel.
The funny thing is, they don’t believe any of it. 
Not even a single word. 
In fact, 
you couldn’t find a more perfect match even if 
you bought a box of them from a drugstore in heaven.

I guess its just some weird ritual all soul mates go through. 
Because afterward, they always give birth to a poem.

Tuesday, September 9, 2014

The Game Of Life

For ages newborn & up.
1 or more players.
Play Time: A Life Span.
Mistakes may result in untimely death.
No givebacks.
Losers must pick their poison.
Winners must virtually
sell their soul to reap the benefits.
The richest man always wins.
Truth is the quickest way to scare people.
Rebels are referred to as terrorist.
Cheating is acceptable as long
as you chauffeur the slave-drivers.
Nobody makes it out alive.
You can never start the game over.
Individuals are weirdos.
Weirdos are real.
Society shuns weirdos, which means…
Ahhhhh, you get the point.
Freethinkers are menace II society.
Selling hope is illegal,
but selling out is lucrative.
Questioning law is taboo.
Questioning God is routine.
And last but not least,
Uncle Sam gets to sweep atrocities
underneath his rug on the daily,
even if his hands have been
dirty for centuries.
Wallah! The Game Of Life.

Tuesday, September 2, 2014

Nobody Cares

Nobody cares.

Not the news reporters, the rappers, 
the police officers, the teachers, the athletes, 
the politicians, the doctors, the pastors, 
the business owners, the coach’s—NOBODY!!!

Now if I know people as well as I think I do, 
the average person has already concocted 
ten different ways to call me a 
And that only ensures one thing, 
that I have your undivided attention. 
Which means at this very moment 
I have more power over you 
than you have over yourself. 
And that smirk you wear on 
your face only proves my point.

Your trying to convince yourself that 
I’m some crazy ignorant guy spewing 
nonsense thats unworthy of your intellect. 
But still you read on searching for the dead end 
you think my moral compass has led me to, 
hoping it doesn’t lead you down the same path.

sorry to be the bearer of bad news, 
but I was always taught you don’t 
condemn people like that. 
In fact, you pray for them. 
Because those are the kind of 
people that need your help the most.

So much for humanity, huh?

Monday, September 1, 2014

Real N*ggas || Spoken Word || Suleiman Ali (Please Subscribe)

Blink at Blank Pages

Where do your memories
go when they are forgotten?

Is there an afterlife for them
to cannonball into, or do they
just pack their bags up and waltz
out of the dorm room of your
hippocampus without even
a wave goodbye?

A middle-aged woman would
probably say straight to the hips.
Some conspiracy theorist may
even say alien’s abduct them
from a human’s consciousness
to learn more about our species.

But I believe they become a
collage of our life handcrafted by God.
The very fragments that come together
and make our imperfect soul a masterpiece.

So in short,
I don’t think memories
can ever truly be forgotten.
I think they just take a new form.
One that only God’s eyes can see.

Thursday, August 28, 2014


"Why can’t achieving peace on the streets 
be as easy as dumping a bucket of ice water 
on someone’s head?

Is peace not cool enough? 
If thats your only objection, 
I’m sure we can start a challenge 
that pleases the masses. Whattaya say?
Maybe we can have every hoodlum 
in the world on camera dumping the bullets 
from their magazine on the governments door step. 
Yeah, that way making a statement would be an 
understatement right?


They’ll probably be practically 
begging us to keep killing each other. 
And obviously that won’t work, 
so they’ll begin to bribe us with 
MONEY like they always do. 
The all-powerful green paper God 
we can never get enough of

I’m sure we all know 
how that story will play out. 
I’m beginning to think there really may be no hope after all.”