Gino is the descendant of kings and when I write my ancestors get hype in their graves.
Let me sign my name in heavens to declare my creative independence.
My truth creates a stink in this perfect rosy world that we have been forced to believe in which we live.
I have found ways, words, mine, others borrowed and dreamt up.
Earth shocking, brain blocking, cock blocking. I have not enough ink in my pen.
I am grateful for my gift of words I have robbed from the world.
I am a giant, surrounded by ants who don’t know what I am talking about.
The world’s liberated women are not liberated at all.
We talk about it too much; we all have the same speech.
(Ladies show your faces coz I’ve already ripped off my mask!)
A woman’s hands are not to serve man. And make best.
They are to look graceful, be helpful, turn the world and carry the future.
(Pussy Niggas lift weights, I’m a woman I lift tons!)
Devotion, Sentimental, Conscious inquiry. These words.
Appreciation of this sweet pleasure has been the anchor of my humanity.
Conformed.
No comments:
Post a Comment