yes my son

You better smile with sunshine
because you don't want face stuck
On those cloudy frownys
In that shack
Shaking something turned brownies
Sprinkles on the frostings
You remember when
You heard this story before
That reminded you
Of your transcendent greatness
Moods have no loyalty
To your deliberate intentions
How horrible would it be
To die without knowing how to live
Dance with the beauty of a child
Deliver the promise of a newborn
The masterplan is to reconnect with your spirit
Let your angels bugalu through your lyrics

Your lips should tremble at the truth
Those tiny seconds become wonders of the world
Hovering through the natural facts
The actual stacked on top of
Reality painted by the numbers
Distracted by the skeletons in the closet
Moths sucking marrow from bones
Resurrect remembrance
To scream love supreme
Throughout the concrete jungle
Where hearts colder than frozen vegetables
Quick to chill slow to thaw
Emotions tightly aggy
Like denim dreams baggily tight
Outta mind outta sight
On the edge of what would drop from eyes
Cries melted wax on cement
From flickering candles
Beads bandanas bottles and blunts
In front of the building
Healing and building with feeling exhaled
Poured into puddles and piles
A homie hollered hope in the drunken freestyle
All you could say was I hear you
The peace we rest in
Allows peaceful confessions
Revenge fueled regrets
Drip off the sky like leaky rain
The arc of your eye
Could transmit various shades
Of violence vibrantly with subtle silences
Right after it all evaporates
A brand new day could wash away all the pain
How lovely is the block
In the mid morning after everyone has gone
To work on independence
From public housing colonized confidence
Much more capable than the corner
You confined to cells like rotating doors
To reveal the realness
Exchanging currency
To certify how g are your credential
You checked out before arrival
Running reckless don’t ensure survival
Could you cite you side conversations
As solid evidence of any research
Block is your cathedral
Grind spot is church
Bochinche was mixed blessings
Spoke your name in vain
Without understanding the pain in fame
All a part of a lane that connects
Those empty bottles reflecting
The fire in our guts
That get spilled right after rolling up
Take a good peek
To see how far you can reach
Those stars seem closer than ever
Through overcast weather
Matches the inner temperature
Drop below to rise above
Scratching the surface
Seeking the purpose
Trapped underground
In purgatory trying to purge impurity
100 percent art official
With natural flavorings
Liver quivering with chaos
Confusion congested chest
Spit the phlegm of how I feel
Funerals are unfun and unreal
Grown children being killed hydroponically
Cumatively count the killings chronologically
Corrupted our psychology with no apologies
Beg your pardon
For my heart starting to harden
My ice grill softens often
Thinking about you in the coffin
You are resurrected and remembered
Message won’t get returned
Homie ANT the sender