Melanated Rhapsody
Tit for Tat 02/11/2010
 
Tit for Tat

It’s somehow justifiable when it’s your act(ion)
When its you it becomes a truth or a fact
Yet when it’s me – I’m considered a quack (mine is fiction).
When I drop milk – you tell me to clean it up and let that be a lesson to you
Yet when you drop milk you ask me “to stop stressing you!”
When I oversleep – you say “I was too busy to call and stuff?”
Yet when you oversleep you ask me “why I didn’t wake you up?”
When I want to clean up you get mad because I move a thing
When you decide to clean up – you will move anything
When I tell a lie - you go straight CSI or FBI
But when you tell a lie – “How Dare I Spy!”
If I go all day without calling you say “Oh! now you remember me!”
If you go all day without calling – it’s “My job has me sooo busy to call thee!”
When I lock my phone – I must be concealing a mystery
When you lock yours – It’s what right do you have to look at my history

 
Is your manure somehow casted in roses, cinnamon, and spices-
With no smell, no disease, pleasant to the eyes, sweet like Icees?
Is it somehow different that you are allowed to have normal human conditioned emotional responses to stimuli?
But when I get similar stimuli –
I’m not supposed to cry
I’m not supposed to hurt, get suspicious
I’m not supposed to get angry or vindictive and pry
Yet it is ok for you to be Magnum PI


Your wrongs, your secrecies, your deceptions - may be smaller than my indiscretions
But my heart still requires protection
My heart, like yours, still needs your affection
My heart still bleeds from your words and deeds
If I cut your heart apart –
it doesn’t make it any less painful if you tear my heart out
“Shit!! It still hurts like Hell”
It’s ok for you to be suspicious and dwell-
on the past-- wondering if it will become the future
But if I dwell – you wonder why my open wound hasn’t already been sutured.


Well Life doesn’t work like that.
I will respond and hurt, like you, to things you do
This ain’t a game for me either – this Tit for Tat
It’s a matter of Life or Death
I will love you to death with my every and last breath
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The Metaphysics of the Jump Shot

 
Up the court under the press of the defendant
Preparing my offensive and my mentality is relentless
24 on the clock a lot of time to get my shot
They try to trap but sometimes you must pass the rock
Pass up the shot to get a better shot
Strategy along with agility is the reality of my lot
I sense my supporters motivating me to accelerate and dunk it like bad stock
High percentage efficiency but not as majestic as the finesse of the Jump Shot
But if it is open then I will drive in like the Audubon
I hold the pill like a bottle on a gun
To Silence ya
When I release the Jump Shot – the violence is done
I’ll murder it, speaking metaphysically
That means my energy utilized during my dribbling shaking and baking
Picking and rolling or giving and going
Just to separate myself from my adversary and get open
To pull up in traffic with precision not hoping but knowing
That as the time winds down the ball will go in
The metaphysics of the Jump Shot is in the follow through
The metaphysic of the Jump Shot can’t be seen by the naked optical
The skeleton of the Jump Shot is the silhouette of the perfection of Michael
While game winning in the finals
Double pump fake and at the precise pinnacle,
The climatic release of a perfect arch shot quiets even the cynical
And with hand still raised, the wrist prophecies the trajectory and the destiny
and the awe is seen in the pupils of my adversary
The metaphysic is colorless not Celtic Green nor Laker Purple
It’s odorless and not a belief, a guess or a wish
The Metaphysic of the Jump Shot is simply this
You can’t see it but you hear the Sssssswish
The metaphysics of the Jump Shot is not the audible; it’s the energy brought nova
Meaning you won’t get the essence of the Jump Shot until you learn how to crossover
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About the Author

 

We can’t tell you much about the Author because as his name implies he wishes to remain Anonymous.  He is also known as the unapologetic observer.  His words whether poetry or prose are reflections of all that he sees and has experienced.  It evolves as he evolves. He is also known as Afewerki (Golden mouth one who never says bad things).

 

What we can tell you is that he is a Black man, born of a parent from the East Cost and a parent from the West coast.  He is an Afrikan born in the United Snakes of Amerikkka.  He ended up being born under the Virgo moon under the peach trees in the south.  He has lived many lives.  He grew up middle class and then watched the drug scene put him in the ghetto.  He found the church to get through the pain as his family was too dysfunctional.  He has always had a quest for truth and that has meant that he has had to ask questions and admit the answers. 

 

He is college educated and has traveled the states and the world.  He has had many occupations.  Entrepreneur, Wall Street Banker, Promoter and the list goes on.  He is every ‘Black’ man.  He has acted and performed on the stage.  He has sung in front of many famous and infamous.  He has freestyled with platinum hip hop artists.  He has jammed with the Soul, Funk and R&B greats.  He has performed in the Olympics.  But he would give all that up for the liberation of his people.  He feels like Tupac in that he is battling the Black Panther and Pimp that is inside of him.  He writes as a means to purge the mentacidal manure in his brain.  Call it a lyrical enema to release the psychological leprosy that is in us all.  He writes because he owes his people and his ancestors.  He does not write to entertain as much as to inform and educate.

 

Anonymous says that he is unapologetic because he does not censure what he writes.  Whether good or bad, it is what must be said.  He has made his mistakes and will make more, but he always remains focused on the Black peoples’ liberation.  He only tells his readers this, “Whether you are offended or pleased by Melanated Rhapsody, don’t blame the messenger until you have dealt with the message”.  For if a sick man is vomiting, it solves nothing by pointing and chastising him for the vomit residue. 

 
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