Sweet Sounds

I grew up with semantic gunshots
That’d make you duck and run behind closet doors.
The sounds of broken glass exploding from my mother's tongue
Across kitchen floors

Se o obrin?

            I grew up with the sonorous sermons
That cite Leviticus. Condemnation spewed
Into the aisles of church pews.
The bible says thou shalt not lie-
The nigga says you must not cry         
Oga says you must not defy
You must not spread and stretch the man’s      


boundaries set
That were meant to trip you up
And beat that ass from the back

No homo

Growing up we didn't need hurdles
On the track. We built our own barriers. 
We sweat ebony bullets trying to leap straight
Over our desires for curved bananas. 


We sucked on lollipops in secluded silence 


And boisterously chewed on manna.

I--broken black boy--crossed out crop tops
In fear of the non stop eavesdrop
Of the man above,
Of Oga,
And The same flip flop nigga
That wanted me to lick his nuts 


But not like that. 


The same nigga that wanted me on my knees
so he could feel tall




I was always salty
To be sweet




To the one that said my speech
was flowery
And called me sweet


Thank you ;)