When I was a Poet…

A long time ago, I wanted to be a poet. This, of course, was way before the fiction bug took hold and planted unseemly characters and neighborhoods throughout my mind. No, I wanted to write poems about love, women and political agendas. Not in that order, mind you, but I had dreams of going to a Poetry Slam and wowing them with my prowess.

I had, at one time, wanted to be a Hip-Hop Artist (when hip-hop was good, not the crap they have now). I never really caught that break, but I had written rhymes for a female rapper by the name of Sister Malika. She had the perfect look for my style of writing. In fact, I once had a young lady compliment me on how I captured women’s integrity and inner strength. I was flattered…for about a minute. My friends overheard her and called me a female for the rest of the day, so it didn’t work out the way I wanted it.

Anyway, I found my poems and thought I share one today. Every week I’ll post one and get your take on it.

This is called: The Way You Want To Be Treated

I need to realize that people will treat you the way
you want to be treated.
I’ve tried to do right by people because in return
they’ll do right by me, but of course that’s not
always the case.

You may do everything for that person.
Be there when their down.
Listen to their troubles.
Offer advice when needed.
Juggle schedules to fit them.

Your actions are daunted by the mere fact
that people USE to get what they want.
It’s a sad case of mistaken concern.
I was mistakenly concerned about your stupid

Not to sound bitter because I’m not.
It’s just that time is valuable.
While I waste my time trying to help you.
(not that I was seeking recognition)
My time could have been put to good use
helping someone who’s more appreciative.

I don’t ask for much and I don’t do it to
satisfy my ego,
but when you’re my friend I’ll slay a dragon
for you. (or at least knock the occasional knuclehead out.)
See, I got your back no matter what and still people take
advantage of your generosity.

They expect for you to be there at their beck and call.
Or for that matter when you’re down and out like a
red-headed stepchild that’s been kicked to the curb
they pass by like you’re invisible.

Well my name is not Ralph Ellison or the
neighborhood sucka.
I deserve a little respect for what’s been done.
But that’s ok. See the people who have been down
with me,
My friends,
My fam,
My crew,
My clique
Will always be by my side, do or die, through thick
and thin.
So why sweat the ungrateful.
As a person in this crazy world, people will treat you
the way you want to be treated.
And your true friends will admire you for not giving into
other people’s mess.


2 thoughts on “When I was a Poet…

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