aldon smith. ur next eli
(via kierra-folsom)
haha
Poetry
Poetry is boundless. Most people think of sonnets or limericks when they think of poetry. I think of hip-hop, not rap, but hip-hop. This is a culture that embodies poetry to a tee. It gets to be a sensory overload bloated with emotion and musicality. The food, the music, the crew, the family, the history, and the potential for greatness all make it something worth living for. It allows me to say: what I want, how I want, if I want. It allows me to yell, “Fuck the police!” without a worry or doubt. It empowers me.
I first started to write to impress a girl. She was a singer and I was into hip-hop. At the time I was listening to rappers like Common, Mos Def, Kanye West, A Tribe Called Quest, and other conscious rappers. This kind of rap caught my ear and my brain. So I wrote a few rhymes on my iPod’s note app and then started posting on Facebook. I didn’t get much feedback. This didn’t matter because I didn’t give a single fuck about feedback, I still don’t. I wrote about girls and how tight I could rhyme. Typical shit but I found my own flavour. I developed overtime, listening to hip-hop evolve as I did. New artists, new beats, new genres, and new content constantly flooded my attention. Throughout high-school I became more and more frustrated. The source of the frustration is irrelevant, but writing became a channel for my frustration and I can’t think of any better way. Now, I don’t write everyday, but I’m always observing. I write about my life and what I see around me. I like to tell a story and I like to pick your brain. This makes rapping easy. What makes it difficult is my fear of being misunderstood, like many rappers of my time and before. Not that I give a shit, I just don’t like being misunderstood. Everyone cares at least a little bit about what people think. The beauty of hip-hop is that I can be as contradicting as I want, because speaking my mind comes before speaking my logic. Hip-hop changed me, for better or worse.
I’m not trying to define or hip-hop, don’t get it twisted. I’m just sharing my interpretation, and the story behind it.
damn.
Lauryn Hill
Script #2
“I’ve got so much trouble on my mind”
Got all the shrinks tryna find and define the landmine in my mind that blew me up to my demise
So I tell the problems to line up, like the shining stars when they align so they can bind together to form a refined conclusion
Inducin’ solutions into a pollution-filled revolution of revolving doors
Spores of annoyance sprouting out in every which way, yet I still fucking stay in line
Tick-tock time pries at my lines, at my lies as I try to repel the restricting vines
That I create, as I debate
How long I gotta wait for things to fall in place
Not that I believe in fate, but I’m just sick and tired of this never ending slow pace
I just want a taste, of direction
A sense of what can remain and what needs correction
Build up a collection, of unbreakable connections
From section to section, of my varied affections
I’ve made the selection, to make music my way
And Imma pray that I get paid
But that aint the issue cuz I want the fame
Not for my name, but for my words
For the music to be heard
For real hip-hop and mainstream to merge
For all the fake shit to be gone and purged
For injustice to be burned
For success to be earned
For my message to be learned
By the future youth, see I’m thinking fucking long-term
I may be spittin wack shit but one day Imma be nothing but ashes in an urn
I don’t know much about these guys, other than their Delta residence. This collaboration with Emmalyn Estrada made my day. I’ll admit they aren’t the next Blackstar and Emmalyn isn’t the next Alicia Keys, but they’re from my hood and they go hard. I respect artists and their dedication to their art. These dudes keep it modest, keep it original, and keep it real.
Yada Yada
I debate
How long I gotta wait, for things to fall in place
Not that I believe in fate, but I hate this never-ending slow pace
I just want a taste of direction
A sense of what can remain and what needs correction
Build up a collection
Of unbreakable connections
From section to section
Of my varied affections
Intellectual puns
Punctual runs
Noticeably more clever and oh so much better are my thought penetrating guns
Screaming at the top of my lungs
I pierce the sky
I miss the high
I get from true satisfaction

