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full name: sXe

email: silentexpression@gmail.com

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I hear God in the pained pleas of a race misrepresented
And single mothers blessing sons as they send them off to orphanages
Or rather daycare centers and public plantations
Of the mass programming of government -slaves-, and
I’m expressing my “behave” in 16’s of -redemption-
Redeeming a lost race through the strength of the inkpen
So, if convicts and liars can speak for my race
Than I’m an ambassador from God, blind from lookin at his face
So I can’t see your race, see through your lies and speak revenge, then
We’ve been deceived by the Serpent to think that black requires -repentance-!
Repopulate your memory banks with physical blanks
So that, even when guns fire, you’re reminded of why we’re -great-
Ricochet between generations and missing pages
From middle passage traveling on ghost-skin slave ships
With foes missing souls who would seek to enslave men
My history and ancestry’re re-forged through every statement

I try to tell them that sometimes it’s not as simple as all that
And sometimes you have a dig a bit to find the -real- facts
And sometimes the truth is just out of sight or under cover
So tough love is exposing the foolish and pulling back the covers
To display the nakedness of Pharaoh’s new suit
You see, I was -born- with the ingenuity they’re selling to you!
They keep tryin to tell me -not- to reach for the sun
As though I were Icarus with wax wings. Haven’t you seen Olympics? We -run-!
I tell them I was -born- dark from staring at the Son’s face
And I’m tired of using Jesse Owens to run the human race
I’m so tired of athletic stereotypes,
That I’m yelling “stop the presses!” to reset the type
And - use the organization of the -first- world power
To rewrite the world with the first paper’s power
Scratching prophetic scriptures on papyrus scraps
Handing them down through generations and redressing them as -rap-

Using the sophistication of -slaves- to redress the human race
Til everybody got “ghetto soul”, trynna dress like my face
So tired of ostracized style, speech, and race
That we re-sold “blackface” to former masters and took their place!
Now -their- kids try to strut with the limp of hurt slaves
And sag jeans like pants denied a belt in the cage
So if you believe in evolution, then I have evolved to fly higher
With light pockets, black cards, all-around envied choirs and
The Cradle of Civilization locked somewhere in my soul
The Birth of Creation in my feet…you should watch me go!
It looks like I’m convinced that I’ve captured the rhythm of the universal dance
Stamp my feet, to crush a style. Snap fingers, to create a dance
Krumpin like David catchin the spirit of the Lord, shoutin
“The second-largest continent couldn’t contain my people”, we bout it
We ‘bout risin above. Livin dreams, and truth shoutin
Look – we took twenty-eight days, and birthed a -president- out of it!

We -Major-!!!

I speak experience from streets, never a pulpit when I preach
On Blakk beats. From misunderstood and misbegotten weeks
And days – or even -years- of repressed expression
Now I’m reaching for the stars like the -ground- just went missing!
I scribe with Hypodermic needles…can you feel what I’m spittin?
I’m flowin water on to paper, God walkin in my written
I paint a picture like a paintbrush is attached to the inkpen
Writin “paint” on the easel. I’m just the dope the world’s fiendin
I “hawk up” the past of slaves, expectorate on your “behave”
You expect me to be ashamed? Of my history, or chains??
They say “reverse racism” when I remember the past
Reference what blacks have done, gain some pride and show some class
But I laugh at another attempt to confuse and subdue me
They claim me like my hair: unmanageable and unruly
But…I’ve never been the type that would lick a cowlick
I’m more…dreaded locks and a soliloquy that’s -sick-!


There go the pimp/preacher in his corner-store church
Leasin absolution when they pass collection plate
Hope’s for sale from Dixie cups in his Cadillac hearse
As he pretends to have relevance – to the crime rate
With a fresh pair of gators and a crocodile-smile
He wouldn’t go an -inch- to help you, let alone the extra mile
…I think I just felt my words break Mach one
Because you feel what I’m sayin ¬-before- I’m even done
Like decrying them corner-store orphanages
Where fatherless children are raised to make more orphan kids
And single mothers are slaves to the stereotypical perception
Of a world that cannot forgive that fateful misconception
That led to a decision of responsibility
And a mother that didn’t want it, but accepted what had come to be
She’s doing the best that she can to make a man out of me…
-That’s- why we worship our mothers, like they just gave us “free”


I disparage intellectual fools with false hypotheses
Spoutin foolish wisdom with the confidence of prophecies
…my people, let Pharaoh go!
My people…LET. PHARAOH. GO! …or just drink the Kool-aid
I’m on the corner of Forever, pushin -wisdom- as a hustle!
Flowin words banned for -excellence- to illustrate the struggle
I called myself Christ’s brother, and thought it not robbery (son of God)
Said I was made in God’s image, so I thought it not mockery (Genesis 1:27a)
To pray in the mirror. Askin God to remake me
Til I reflect the Son’s glory, like a spiritual moon, b
My flow is a pole that could’ve caught Jonah’s Big Fish
But I’m throwin -men- hooks and lines like, “ay yo! Catch this!”
Drawin men to Christ like Michelangelo’s canvas (Creation of Adam)
Conversation with God, steady prayin like a Mantis
It’s by King James’s name that I spit in prophetic sentences
The living sixty-fifth-book-after-Genesis…(how’s -that- for truth?!?)



- Revelations

We started out walkin. Maybe dancin to the beat.
Now we’re being played like a guitar, then hung up by the strings
Of those who rewrite words until you aren’t even sure what they mean
And don’t have the time or car to vote if you could even see
What they’re trying to do, and what they really mean
And we’re -so- afraid of being labeled the same
As those to whom history is foremost on the brain
That we iron out the brain waves to flat line like good slaves
Still slavin to the idea that we were born to behave
But I was born to rebel. Let the truth tell and raise Hell
Until it’s Heaven. Because Hell is in your mind if you’re not burning

With the same passion as my written. My brain’s itchin
I’m scratchin the truth from strained days
While y’all freebase lies to your main veins
And I’m still confused by those who refuse to believe that they’re slaves…

“I freed a thousand slaves I could have freed a thousand more if only they knew they were slaves.” – Harriet Tubman

As though the chains -have- to be physical instead of metaphysical
Psychological. Sociological. Stereotypical. Unethical.
If you’re not the stereotype then you are no longer black
Or Negro, or Negron, or African-American…
-Anything- but “American”. Everything -plus- “nigger”
Nobody wants to know about your history, “nigger”!
Why don’t you pick some cotton, kids are watchin
Don’t tell ‘em to strive to be free!
Middle finger to the cops, so when -they- pop
They feel justified killing you and me
So rap against the top, but don’t you stop
To bring them truth from in the lies
…it’s like the Maryland slaves from 1862 to ‘65
We ain’t trynna get -paid-…we trynna be -free-!

One state away from the truth amidst the lies…

Just do your nine-to-five. Don’t try to bring it live
Forget your history. Don’t you reach for the sky,
Reach for tech schools because -Dreams- are the lie…

Now -his- story is the same as -my- story,
Is the same as -her- story, is the same as -his- income..
Now blacks are callin whites “nigga” because of the state of -their- income
As though a mark of the skin is taken in measure with the – income
Now I hit the deck like they declared a threat,
when they ask about – my income
Because – incoming! – ideas are bombarding my “peers”
With challenges to action, and the lies they’re accustomed to hear
And the truth they -won’t- seek out,
The potential they -don’t- talk about
And an ingrained hatred for authority that has been taught to fear -us-!...

While, we fear -them- for the color of -our- skin
And misunderstandings that no one is interested in.
What men don’t understand, they usually tend to hate
So they hate -our- sagging pants, while we hate -their- threatening stance
And “can’t we all just get along” sounds like a fool.
“No, we can’t!”
Spits the kids taught to lie when looking cops in the eye
Taking a “necessity” and making it into a life
He’s on the corner “getting by” sowing seeds that ruin lives
Because it’s not -just- the addicts, felons have it hard in life.

Now, as he learns a few things from the “inside”
They start to fear that he has gained insight
So he is no longer allowed, or even given an invite,
To vote, by some states, for the rest of his life
Denied the fifteenth amendment…now, who -doesn't- own your life???
Who -doesn't- own your rights??
And who told -you- that you were -right-?
…
It may not be the issue that only white is right
But the poor wise man is somehow still despised (Ecclesiastes 9:15-16)
So rich fools cavort, as we call their wealth “wise”
…
We’re torn apart by divisions.
Misunderstanding the strength of schisms
Creatin prisons with religion…
…and the truth goes unheard
When fornication is just a verb
And aborted “fetuses” are drowned
In our prolific words
Rappers -should- be held accountable for spittin that “yah heard”
Supplyin that demand. We’re hooked on bein “the man”
Now rap’s the new drug, rappers the pushas, actors the “thugs”
And we are drowning in our own hubris…

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

…But -my- race is -not- done…



- Revelations

[This is sort of a follow-on to "Spittin Wisdom", and the pre-cursor to "The New Wisdom (Penny for your Thoughts, Fifth for your Penny)"]



I Crip walk and crow hop as my lips pop and fingers snap,
hips swaying to the beat
As men raise their hands and Slap! The other in a rhythmic trance.
And raise the other hand and Slap! on the face
Of a single mother, to put her back in “her place”
And women say it’s ok, it’s just because he loves her
The man says it’s ok, it’s because she doesn’t love him
But what they don’t understand
Is why the children
no longer love
…them…

Listen to my words, as they wind between the beats
Like belly dancers in Middle Eastern countries
Or children sold to win’ between the sheets
As my ear is attuned to listen to the sound
Of the funny cars, as they fly by
Like Negron stars, with their eyes to the sky
Who pass by those of my generation
Who seem frozen by the Gorgon stare endemic of the race
Stuck in the past.
As slaves are kept in place with the whips and the chains
Slaving to a government oligarchic, not “of the people”
“Blinging” with shiny metal on their mechanical “whips”
As they pay for the chains that are -still- used to define “us”
From which they hang the head of God who’s name they take in vain
As the previous generations hang their heads in shame
At the disrespect and disregard for authority, age, and tradition.
Deicidal children are deified by a society that will willfully immortalize
The horrors that men can do claiming a need to survive
or that “only God can judge me”
Brothers kill brothers for fear of showing vulnerability
Though their weakness is the fear to show anything but strength
Because true strength is found in facing your own weaknesses
Not giving in to, and using your fears
But we are as weak as our projected strength, and blinded by the irrational fear
Of being perceived as less than another
for a conspicuous lack of those physical things
Which “they” have taught us to use to define “us”
But, even were I arraigned, jewelry would not define “us”…
For the “funny cars” have flashing lights in blue and red
Cars: black-and-white. Free bracelets made of steel,
With a correlation for each wrist
As the “whip” flies faster with a flick of the wrist
And a flash of the lights, and sirens “make way”
But it is not just “their” fault, for as tribal chiefs
Sold the first slaves on the Ivory Coast
We allow ourselves to be “massa’ed” by the very beat that we used to define “us”
From back when “they” took all of that which defined “us”
And redefined “us”, that we may more easily conform
To the ideal slave that “they” would have made the “norm”
But now, we refuse to learn from our history, now made free to us
Though it is not all in history books, for true wisdom must be sought out
But we cannot learn from the past, when we are still stuck in it
And we cannot move forward into the future, until we reconcile with the past
…As the true slaves of days gone past, scream and roll over in their graves
For this is -not- what they fought, suffered, and died for
And we are merely living life for one day more
Crabs in a bucket: mass emancipation without proper planning
Was the confounding of our Tower of Babel,
For what do we have to fight, if we perceive the battle won?
And thus begins the true battle, for we wage war against ourselves
And those who would rest on the laurels that they did not earn
Demanding reparations for their father’s father’s lives…and their mother’s too
But it is the -curse- of the former generations that passes down to the present
Very rarely do the blessings inherit. Because blessings inherit the meek.
The meek do not inherit the blessings.
For, when the meek inherit the earth,
they still must clean up the mess that we have left behind
I’m not saying that it’s fair, I’m just saying that that’s Life

“Those who do not learn from the past are doomed to repeat it”
And if by “those” we mean “us”, then must not we define “us”?
For “know thyself” is but a basic axiom,
And, if the “beam” is in our eye, then why bother with the “moat” in the all-seeing “I”?
Or trying to put a Black face on currency?
Because, currently, we can barely handle The President that is carrying office
Or the responsibility of having one of “our” race in power…
So, it is essential to establish the paradigm of “us”
Before moving on to the more pressing problems that assail this generation, nation, and globe.

So tell me…how do we define “us”??

I have often been told
To “reach for the stars”
But
I wish to be
What it is
That “the stars” reach for

My mother told me
(when I was a child)
That I could be
Anything
That I wished to be
Anything
That I could imagine...

For fear of change,
I tried to kill my imagination.
But it was stronger
Than I had imagined it to be…

In desperation,
I killed every other “me”
That could ever be
So that I may continue to be

ME

And continue
To Dream

…

I have traded the world for Dreams…

Decide now, one day you may have to choose...


(this is not pertaining to any one thing, actually. This is more of a general concept. Many times in life, people are faced with decisions that they are not prepared for. More often than not, they choose the wrong one on-the-fly. I say, as much as possible decide -now-. You never know when it may come down to a either-or choice.

(People often ask me if I am religious. It used to be "You could say that", then it evolved to, "I don't really consider myself religious". Now? "No. I am -not- religious.")

Religion.
Relationship.

...one will lead you to Heaven. The other...Hell. - Myron Golden (paraphrased)

Choose carefully.