Frustrated – Original Poetry 12/6/05

I am so tired of living among a passion-less people

So exhausted, so full of excuses

of why they don’t have time to

or don’t have the energy to

Can’t fit the struggle into their schedule of Pilates classes,

after work affairs and the nine to five

Complaining about the lack of, the need for

and their people being so poor

Can’t wait to put down their fellow-man, their president and the unending war

What my brother, my sister are you fighting for?

Is it the last seat on the bus?

The most popular item at Toys R Us?

The raise that’s been denied you for years

or just fighting to hold back your tears because of the bonuses that were given to your peers?

What are you fighting for?

I wish I could go back and live among the passionate folks

before our community was numbed with pipes full of dope

and silenced behind bars where our men are afraid to pick up the soap

with women like Angela Davis who feared no one

And the Black Panther Party protected every young black son

No one sat around waiting for assistance

We fought for justice, excited by its resistance

Black play writes brought home Tonys

and didn’t settle for gospel-comedy baloney

What are we fighting for?

Our babies are dying in the street

and we’re afraid to stand up on our own two feet

Too afraid that they’ll keep on killing?

Hell, they shot Martin, Malcolm, Treyvon and Lincoln

We’re letting our children get abused

wasting our money on liquor and more concerned about the right pair of shoes.

What the hell are we fighting for?

It’s nice you donate to the poor

Cause you’re making millions off of them buying your CD while you’re turning them away from you door

Is there room in your mansion for ten more, senor?

Then why hire them as maids when you could teach them to do so much more

Tell me Mister Mogul – who are you fighting for?

Taking money from our community so you can walk hand in hand with the Barbie doll you purchased from the store

Tired of all the talk and no action

I remember the days sleeping on a cold concrete step, risking my Ivy League education for South Africa’s poor

An education that most can’t even afford to get anymore

So many poets talk of change and raising us up

But when are we gonna do more?