No. 89: You or the Truth?
I've always wondered why nobody likes a know-it-all.
I thought maybe it was the way he
what he thought was wisdom
in people's faces.
So I tried a softer, kinder approach.
Same results. Same subtle look of hatred.
So I tried to play along with everybody,
drink the punch, do the dance,
repress whatever specks of truth tried to invade my blissful youth.
I tried to be just another nigga: not too goofy, not too smart, not too hood, not too deep,
Actually, no, they were different.
The data points spoke of my indifference.
My inner compass kept twitching.
My words kept itching.
The words were stuffed--left stuck--
in my mouth like Fruit Roll-Ups.
Failsafe bombs left by God in my cerebral cortex still ticking.
But I learned early that this planet don't like
the truths it can't pick and choose.
Plus I needed friends,
and I sensed early that my logic tends to offend,
or maybe discomfort,
or maybe dismember--
I don't know. Don't remember much except
the iris, and the way it held back riots every time I asked why.
So I found it easier
to stitch my lips together with stoic silence.
But nowadays I feel like
I'm a part of this human project and my assignment
is to be me, broken, righteous, reckless,
to bludgeon us with rhymes into reflection.
I don't need to be right. There are no winners.
I just need to write, be a student of time.
Besides, honesty is good for your livers.
And if not,
you still gone have to bear with me
'cause I been losing the stomach for filters.
Blame it on scripture.
One day, I realized I followed a savage Jesus,
not the sweet moral teacher dead Christians say He is.
I’ve lost my stomach for ignorance.
I’ve lost my patience for facades.
I won’t bury myself alive with the world’s lies.
If it’s between my ego and the truth, my life,
it’s time that sucka die.