-Product of Society-

White walls and glass. I’m surrounded by cowards in
masks and crooked cops with degrees in criminal justice
but by law I’m corrupted? Society divided. I’m a minority
and statistics say I’m supposed to be dead, gang related
with a bullet in my head. See my friends my foe, so
I swim alone in this mess I’ve made, caged in and
looked at like a helpless lion. No medium needs to tell
me where my life’s headed. My eyes are open but I can’t
see past these walls. If I were a lawyer I’d object
because this is ludicrous, but I’m just a victim of poverty,
states property, scared I’ll die unloved and alone between
these four walls majority calls their home. See I’m an under-
achiever cause I don’t come from the subburbs and I
have a learning disability because I sometimes mispronounce
words? That’s bogus and just another way for the government
to boast and steal joy from my community and give those
who work for them immunity, turning us against our
own, strangers in our own home, suspended in another
dimension upper classmen call it the slums.Youth in
my neighborhood drunk off rum and taking them thangs
that cause chaos for the Innocent but who am I to
criticize them, when I myself am a product of society.

-Chocolate Kisses-

Her lips are pink with a hint of spice.
Her perfum divine. In the air it blossoms.
The night is hers. Rose petals on the bed spread.
Strawberries on the night stand, Chocolate Kisses.
My lips meet where she’s pink in the middle.
She speaks in tongues as she shakes and shivers.
Let it rain, let it pour. Chocolate Kisses, my
boo gets the best. Joined at the hips like siames
twins, breathing in as our passion rises, here’s where
our passion lies. Chocolate Kisses got her digging
in my back, her heart beats with mine and her
moans add to the rhythm. Chocolate Kisses,
she’s addicted to my sweetness, her sweat glissens
off the moonlight. She rides her stallion as
a cow girl might and leaning over she steals a
dose of my Chocolate Kisses, a herseys kiss
rich with no almonds. She screams with joy of
ecstasy. I love it when she’s next to me.
On my chest she lay and in these arms she’s
safe and she can’t get enough of my Chocolate


Sometimes, the sunrise is as great as sunset
But that varies with which windows your seeing through.
Through this prison glass every sunrise is a
new begining and every sunset is the dawn of a
new day. For me the sunrise is a blessing
because I know I’m alive. Seasons come and
go but memories are made and laughter is
heard…Prison ain’t a correctional facility
in all actuallity but it does build character
and maturity..T.V. doesn’t lie, gang fights
and riots are incited but what don’t brake
a child will build a man and a man
knows he is himself in the end…
best way to do time is to embrace it
fighting it only embodies stress and stress
is a weakness, we must master our emotions
and by extension our weaknesses, so smile
into the sun and take strength from the

-Thinking to myself-

Why am I worth more to
my state’s men in prison, than out?
300 dollars a day for the past
8 yrs. My incarceration paid for
the Pinnicale Bank arena, but
I’m just one person amongst
thousands. I’m Nobody. A Political
Prisoner within my own country.
Statisticaly, I guess this is
my birth right. As a minority
I’m no more than a digit in
the country’s debt deficit. The
Powers that are, are puppet
masters always pulling strings
but all I wish is to be cut

-In a Hail of Bullets-

Grab an umbrella because bullets are pouring
shell cases and blood. My city’s in a hail
of bullets. They say when it rains it pours
but you ain’t ever seen it pour like this.
Gold plated brass, you’ll feel the rain before
you hear the thunder roar. In my community
ain’t no unity. So these bullets soar.
Gangbangers and drug dealers, prostitutes and
dead beats, this is the type of polution that
riddle the streets and civil niggas come
a dime a dozen. So change is real rare
unless we talking pennies, then that makes
plenty sense, since acording to statistics
the average household in proverty makes
about 12 thousand a year, that’s why I’m all for
Obama care, regardless how it effects the
economy or communists. My president is black
and so are my peers, who else will help us if
we ourselves don’t care.

-Circle of life-

Life is a battlefield and I’m just
a gladiator in its arena and instead
of swords of iron, we use guns
and bullets of lead…

Society divided, ganglands nortorious,
down town v.s. up town and cursed
are the parents of fallen warriors…

Poetic Justice, we were once princes
and princesses, now we’re rats and outcasts
labels of the modern world…

But still the sunshines on me, is still
I breath, only to wake up to the same
Repeat after Repeat.

Wondering when the bullet’s gone hit me and
cause me to flatline.

With life comes death and with death
comes life so weep for me as I embrace
the circle of life.

-A man’s offering-

I offer, me, myself and I, my future
and my past. I put my flaws on a shelf
for I’m far from flawless. I offer, my heart,
my love, my kindness, my hope, my faith,
my faithfulness, forgive me for the wrong
I’ve done and the things I’ve yet done, for
divided we fall but together we stand.
I offer my mind, my body and all its strengths.
I offer my ups, my down, my sorrows. I
offer my words, my presence, my pleasures
and OH what wonders my mouth can do.
I offer my money, my cars, my house
my food, my arms, my shelter. I offer
my seeds, my child, my all, my power,
my protection, my attenion, my ears they’ll
listen. I offer my dreams, my goals,
my success, my fears, my tears, my stress.
I offer my bed, my sheets, my sex, my
sisters, my brothers, my friends, together we’ll
be a trend. I offer my respect, my courage,
my peace, my wisdom and knowledge and
everything within my reach.

-Dreams of Nightmares-

I’m tired of thinking about tomorrow when
tomorrow ain’t promised and today I’m stressed
and disturbed by dreams. In these dreams
people commit acts of murder, greed, rape and
so on. More or less the acts of seven deadly
sins. I draw and write to enhance what
pureness I may still have within but I
can’t obtain the greatness of man because I’m
bound by deception and believe in what I
see and I see these dreams as nightmares
and these nightmares as my future. By day
I search for Jesus but by night I rest
with death. Psychologists call it possesed by
stress so I weep and show weakness but it takes
a man to cry, for I have no women to love
nor a foundation built, plus I’ve fallen
and I don’t posses the will power to stand
on my own so I lie here with my dreams
of nightmares alone.

-Beyond Control…-

Your voice is as sweet as peaches and cream and
your skin a gorgeous shade of ivory with the
barest touch of rose…I know you smell like
honey and lavender and sweet, sweet sunshine…
I long for your lips to linger with mine as my
tongue traces the cupids bow in the center of
your upper lips and my hands tousle your curls…
Let your hands roam and feel the velvet hardness
of my manhood…Looking into your eyes, we sink
deeper, beyond control…No way to hide the
desperation in your eyes, they’re screaming: TAKE ME.
But first I must taste you…A whisper soft stroke
of my delicate fingers on your clit, a soft bite
in your inner thighs, grab my head, arch your back
and embrace your climax…taste your sweet honey
dip a I put my tongue to yours, feel every inch
of me, lay against you, grind against you…I’m such
a tease, pinching your diamond hard nipples and branding
you with my chocolate kisses..Let the heat rise
and our bodies sweat as I take you again and again
until you scream