Time Biding the Poem by GNB

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Time Biding the Poem by GNB

https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B1aSJCvnsCXcclo2bzlzano5YVU/edit?usp=sharing

i say one’s physical appearance only bides time. for all that one is, is really on the inside. In the spirit of things on some top shelf shit, only for the look, never for the taste. and what is beneath is the truth. and in this case i call it a character flaw. flawed deception. and his words were empty like hallelujah to a non believer. and I don’t believe in you sir. texting me back cause your girls in the room saying have a nice night young lady. when you just phucked my back out last week. tried to pull the down comforter over my eyes as you tried slowly phucking me to death in the beginning, and no wonder you always insisted on us phucking in the dark. cause you never wanted to share my gaze and probably couldn’t handle it. and like i told you i shall text til i feel better. and that sir is apart of my healing. now i will write like word vomit projecting you up and out of my belly. liar. and you coward i should’ve known all along when you shared that story, couldn’t even save those children you were paid 28 bones an hour to protect, so how could i ever expect you to protect me in any way? you coward, who instead of not standing 6 feet 2 inches against systematic violence in a residential treatment facility, was found lying petrified in a fetal position. and you shamed yo self trembling, all out, desperate spilling red roses out of hands, let them smear ass with shit to your face. and you thought you was smooth cause you gained financially from those children’s suffering. and oh the funniest shit is that civil law suite you mentioned that you and your coworkers were going to file for your pain and suffering. tell me sir, tell me again who’s child is left behind still suffering? and you coward who with your silence allowed those children to be victimized with horrendous acts of violence domestic, sexual, substance, vigilante style suffering against those children. with wide eyes wide, i sat in horror, disbelief that a living being could be so passive with the suffering of others, yet how could i expect you to understand any suffering i was feeling. and that suffering sir you have within. as you recalled a story about that young boy under 18, being courted by his therapist, raped. the pictures they snapped of each other kissing one the beach, under the moon light, and all you could do was shake your head at it. little boy trapped in that phucking big body! you punk dick fallacy. you ain’t no leader. no more worthy of the space taken up in the belly of glutenous capitalist’s. and i wish to obliterate your lack of self-respect with a wash board. scrub you away, the impurities sir. and i admit the way your physical appeared made me feel safe at first and then when you opened your phucking mouth i felt a since of silence, embarrassment, squeamish that i even feigned over you. you are no different sir than the slave masters that sold Africans like beasts. and you sir are a cowardly beast instead you smile perpetuating the same losses. and i expected you to care that i cared, for what? time biding, biding my time, and thank goodness for poems and words. -Gracie

Time Biding the Poem/Video by Gracie Berry

Video

https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B1aSJCvnsCXcclo2bzlzano5YVU/edit?usp=sharing

Photo on 1-27-14 at 10.12 PM

i say one’s physical appearance only bides time. for all that one is, is really on the inside. In the spirit of things on some top shelf shit, only for the look, never for the taste. and what is beneath is the truth. and in this case i call it a character flaw. flawed deception. and his words were empty like hallelujah to a non believer. and I don’t believe in you sir. texting me back cause your girls in the room saying have a nice night young lady. when you just phucked my back out last week. tried to pull the down comforter over my eyes as you tried slowly phucking me to death in the beginning, and no wonder you always insisted on us phucking in the dark. cause you never wanted to share my gaze and probably couldn’t handle it. and like i told you i shall text til i feel better. and that sir is apart of my healing. now i will write like word vomit projecting you up and out of my belly. liar. and you coward i should’ve known all along when you shared that story, couldn’t even save those children you were paid 28 bones an hour to protect, so how could i ever expect you to protect me in any way? you coward, who instead of not standing 6 feet 2 inches against systematic violence in a residential treatment facility, was found lying petrified in a fetal position. and you shamed yo self trembling, all out, desperate spilling red roses out of hands, let them smear ass with shit to your face. and you thought you was smooth cause you gained financially from those children’s suffering. and oh the funniest shit is that civil law suite you mentioned that you and your coworkers were going to file for your pain and suffering. tell me sir, tell me again who’s child is left behind still suffering? and you coward who with your silence allowed those children to be victimized with horrendous acts of violence domestic, sexual, substance, vigilante style suffering against those children. with wide eyes wide, i sat in horror, disbelief that a living being could be so passive with the suffering of others, yet how could i expect you to understand any suffering i was feeling. and that suffering sir you have within. as you recalled a story about that young boy under 18, being courted by his therapist, raped. the pictures they snapped of each other kissing one the beach, under the moon light, and all you could do was shake your head at it. little boy trapped in that phucking big body! you punk dick fallacy. you ain’t no leader. no more worthy of the space taken up in the belly of glutenous capitalist’s. and i wish to obliterate your lack of self-respect with a wash board. scrub you away, the impurities sir. and i admit the way your physical appeared made me feel safe at first and then when you opened your phucking mouth i felt a since of silence, embarrassment, squeamish that i even feigned over you. you are no different sir than the slave masters that sold Africans like beasts. and you sir are a cowardly beast instead you smile perpetuating the same losses. and i expected you to care that i cared, for what? time biding, biding my time, and thank goodness for poems and words. -Gracie

My hair is not a fad. My hair is a natural phenomon

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My hair is not a fad. My hair is a natural phenomon

breath through all the space that is left. don’t hold one bit inward, only push outward. remember locs are like them ghost spirits that woo and catch the eternal we are. they never leave and only find space to nestle closer. its no wonder that when we see them in pictures, in flesh they capture and shutter souls with the greatest of ease. never a fad, yet a natural phenomenon. locs loving on locs. they be like umbilical cords fused to a depth all their own. on the surface they sing and play and bind together. beneath they sew sweet vibes of melancholy figs. they grow stronger with wisdom. solidarity. dance. swing to rhythms in crowded places. they command all the love. they deserve it.

Come up off that horse

Thinking about all of the famous people I’ve come into close contact with, shared in the kindest of spirit. Some I didn’t even know were famous cause that’s how cool shit was. Thankful to those who remain in my life, authentic, no paparazzi, flashing lights, temporary bull shit. Blessed to still connect with Bobby Seale, Niki Giovanni, and Henry Louis Gaits some of the realist I know. I realize that close contact with strangers has to be selective, yet why even perpetuate a vibe you are not permitted to sustain? ‘The fame’ cheapens the very act of authenticity. Remember, I’m not chasing your dreams, I have my own. I loathe what your material wealth comes with. Longing for the days of Jean Michel Basquiat’s and Andy Warhol’s, Factory drop-ins, no stranger to creative people. No fronting lol! It’s unfortunate that some people’s fame is merely a capitalist act, and is often the great divide between people rich in spirit and goodness like me and the folks I roll with. Hope you come up off that horse. One love Image

Get With Him-The Vintage LENS Style of Emeka Okereke

“It’s been a long time since I spent three months in one place,” said the celebrated 33-year-old Nigerian photographer, whose work has been exhibited in art festivals across the world. “I believe so much in movement — movement in the physical sense, movement in the metaphysical sense, so I am always moving; this is basically who I am.”

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http://www.cnn.com/2013/07/24/travel/artists-road-trip-africa-invisible-borders/index.html