I Have No Culture: Just Me By Myself

Ever looked at African porn?

You see them all,

men and women,

of all porn really,

it really does tear me up inside,

to see a woman who symbolize your culture,

falling into the sex twenty four seven,

without regard of people looking,

i been to those parties orgy plus,

all over the carpets and cars,

everywhere across the world it is evident,

but to me it is harder to accept,

especially when you got so much pride,

in an African woman from over yonder,

to here and she’s right all the time you see,

and the music of distaste,

versus hopeless love music lost is case,

judged as is and so evident too,

as well as politics spinning,

doctors don’t care or not enough to recognize,

without the people they will never have wealth,

i wear other people ideas,

i wear other people regardless,

listen to their ways of education,

without knowing i got my own to survive,

and so if i don’t go by their ways then i’m obsolete,

as my thoughts are wrong based on associations,

though theirs are laws while others outlawed,

i need my own,

she births a culture of death,

and so the business reproduces it also,

i have no economy called utopia,

maybe my ideals are too farfetched,

to ever come back stretched out my hands releasing stress,

dayum it is just me and myself,

caught-up in the mixes,

i know all males be battling,

to take me out to the depths as himself,

from the bottom to top,

has left an everlasting impression on my mind,

and eyes don’t lie,

emotions brew deeply inside,

sometime i hide them,

knowing it is no such thing as a virgin,

regardless of gender,

as everything is perceptive,

oppression at the fullest you see,

depression be at my doors,

but you ain’t coming in,

i i i will help myself,

cause ain’t nobody helping me,

or coming together,

so what is the use faking it?

If i blast up through the roof of my jawbone,

exploding all the deadly sensations to the brain,

then everything stops,

the sub-conscious is nerve racking,

i can’t keep up with realities of lies about everything,

versus no-thing like space,

i got’ta build my own culture,

without a female as the female component,

is within me also so i will birth,

my own culture to be pride of,

and sell it as business,

to fuel my own economy,

of just me by my muthafu**in’ self,

the world is full of hatred to the depths,

i can’t understand why people keep switching,

i ain’t no saint but this inner-self of a soul,

wakes up more and more in depth of difference,

brothers be trying to get at me on the low low,

of all colors and what is the use carrying a weapon,

when i’m going to die regardless?

I guess it is the difference between dying naturally,

and violently as a political situation still the body,

makes the news called the eulogy perceptively,

and to my depths it’s just me by myself,

cause i have no culture,

i have no economy,

and no business i can call my own,

to be proud of so of course,

the african woman is no longer existent,

just like the others so i’m creating new dreams,

writing them into books as my own truth,

like them fairy tales books,

but mine is different,

my own sciences and math,

from thought without theirs,

comes calligraphy onto space,

what a way to escape out they madness,

transform myself into a literary art as myself as the ultimate drive-bye,

they scene me gone into the future consciously sown high,

i got’ta reap my deeds of just me by my muthafu**in’ self….

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