that boy power
(after SIR by Kenyatta A.C. Hinkle)
They say in order to be a decent poet, one needs to learn how to describe feelings.
I posit: what is the point of describing feelings if one can’t even acknowledge the name of those feelings as they are correlated to the accompanying feeling within one?
What I mean by this is that there is no way for a person who is incapable of describing feelings to himself.
There is no way for that person to describe feelings to you.
If that person can’t even tell that person’s self what that person’ is feeling.
IF the feeling inside of that person is a person, then name that baby power.
Let that boy go crazy with power.
Let that absolute power corrupt him absolutely.
Let that boy find his own name and learn to find his own way to save his own pain.
TO hide that pain from you, that boy learned to hide that boy’s feelings from him that person.
That self inside the boy is not the person you thought the boy to be that.
That feeling is not that.
The boy is not that.
That boy is not.
To not call that boy by his powerful name is a disservice to the feelings inside that boy.
Let that boy roam.
That mango man don’t be calling me unless I dial the numbers on my boy’s cellular phone.
Will you accept this call collect from an institution meant to correct?
It’s ya boy, ya boy.
Don’t you remember me?
When’s the last time you sent money?
When’s the last time you even mentioned me?
When’s the last time you thought you and me would one day follow our dreams?
When’s the last time you let these words into your soul, into your breath, into the back of a stretch limo by the name of carousel, by the name of compost.
BY the name of hearse.
Long processions of followers-on hang to your every word now, boy.
You done made it and forget where you come from, boy.
Know that they still call you boy behind your back, tho, boy.
Don’t let them call you Blackstreet, Boy.
Don’t let them shoot you down in broad day on High Street, boy.
Don’t let them convince you you’re royalty, boy, cuz boy, that hubris will tear you down.
Did you forget what it means to be humble?
Did you forget how long it took you to learn how not to stumble?
Did you forget that it wasn’t meant for you to go a day without thanking God for your blessings?
Don’t stand atop that stage and count off all the people you need to thank without starting and finishing your sentences like a proper clause with proper praise to your proper Lord.
There is only one God above. Don’t you dare forget that, boy.
You is nothing. You are nobody. You will never be anything.
Don’t let these folks twist you inside out until you can’t tell righteousness from sin.
It’s not all relative. This ain’t Einstein.
I know you have anger inside, deep, burning anger. Let it out, or it will,. Deeply, burn you.
Don’t let them rob you.
Of that joy, boy.
Don’t let them hold you
What Kanye say?
We might be down –---- but not out, ooooOOOoooooOOOOoooooh
Said Shaiye: "I am a Somali writer who calls Minneapolis home. I use writing as a way to heal from childhood trauma and to parse the conflicts which arise from my various subjectivities. I am an MFA Candidate at the University of Minnesota. I have had work published or forthcoming in Dreginald, Diagram, Rigorous, New South and others."