No Blanket
Cold world cadence. With every poem,
I swear,
I ask that the clouted
hush up-
just vibe wit me.
I represent them righteous princesses-
products
of poverty.
I guess lately I’ve been stressing shit,
wondering if they’ll rock wit me.
Worried if I take ’em up top,
will they save a spot for me?
Or has the city
cynical-eye-zed my mind?
That truth is hard for me.
//
Bullets like the tears in your eyes-
all those times you’d cry
and never thought
I’d see.
So premature throughout the years,
how could I not surpass my peers?
I wish I told myself back then,
“No matter what, girl-
you pure ferocity.”
From this point on,
I move wit a certain
je ne sais quoi to me.
Sanctified subtleties-
cross my t’s,
dot my i’s.
Then
I
rise
like our late Maya.
//
Renaissance mami-
they hollin’,
“Rapunzel, let out da block for me.”
Revenge is in the comets,
so if I’m ignoring all the comments
it’s ’cause I know
that God gon block ’em.
And they don’t stop.
I know it’s hard to see-
I know He like the art in me.
Some bitches say I ain’t all that.
I think they proud of me.
Probably still fighting the truth,
can’t stand the honesty.
Long as Nicki love me-
word to my pen-
it’s just the Barb in me.
Itty bitty piggy,
I’m piggybacking the God you seek.
Maybe deep down,
I’m afraid
of my sensuosity.
//
Like when I see these dudes on the ave,
hope they don’t bother me.
Forced to hide my worth
’cause these niggas be buggin’.
Give him conversation,
he thinking we fucking-
bugging.
I be tucking my dreams away
from the shade of the public.
’Cause these days,
if it ain’t trending,
nobody gon love it.
But fuck it…
//
Word momentum like Kilauea
in crimson flames.
Not a game,
but the wordplay like San Andreas-
swear it-
be bussin,
eruptin.
I don’t joke when it comes to talent.
That’s one thing I refuse.
I know hoes that betrayed they sisters
just to be in some views.
Could never be me.
If word is bond,
then my soul
is gon forever be free.
//
Heaven called-
we talked private.
I’m the closest thing
to angels you’ll see.
The girl’s official.
R-O-C’s finest-
official tissue.
I rose from concrete,
so I can’t fail,
even with all my bristles.
What can I say
when they don’t wish me well?
I’m from da Roc-
with every good,
comes some sort of hell.