I often seethe
Through the teeth
The fervor of the prophets (saw) words translated through hadith’s
On the tips
of my lips
With hands on my hips (akimbo)
I can move..
Slave to the groove
On the dawning of Jouve....
Under my brownskin feet
Is the cold street
that embodies the warriors blood...  
Uproots as Roses stemming from concrete..
I am a her..
I am a Him...
I am neither...
As salamu aliaykum
I am Muslim...
Knowledge keeps me sleepy
It travels..innate...deeply...
Kisses the quintessence of Phyliss Wheatley....
Looking all cute
In my two piece suit
No matter how cute...
The suit...
I am still envisioned as this strange fruit....
Did you know that was written by a Jewish school teacher...
Damn..You know sometimes knowledge burns a hole
Right through the center of the soul
Billie Holiday macked the song
Till Nina Simone came along
And defecated it all over the Paris microphone...
Sometimes...I dare not speak...
Flipping on the other side of colored cheeks..
Representing the Clan of the meek...at their zenith their very peak...
So as the voice bellies up from the womb of the girth...
This same place holds the body of the earth..
And to all it’s inhabitants to whom I gave birth.....
And of all things sufficient and of self worth...