I’ve been trying make it out here with this poetry

But I am realizing, nobody know me.

So, who can I say that I am?

I ain’t got no money. I’m not “the man”. I’m not from the projects but

I’ve been there, so I understand.

I’m not a rapper or in the dope game, but it’s real, I understand

And you ain’t gotta know me but some might say first hand

I’m a woman you dig, I do what I can

And I perform sometimes, not a groupie, not a fan.

I am just who I am.

Trying to teach my daughters to love themselves more than they love that man.

I’m not trying to fall. Oh no! I’m trying to stand.

Maybe one day, maybe ya’ll, I’ll have my own name brand.

So I can send my babies off to Jamaica or France.

Leave all my seeds upon some type of fertile land

And meet the demand…

Make my mark in the sand

See, I won’t always be here so I’m sprinkling knowledge in their ear.

Like them dudes in the hood be drinking tall cans of beer.

Sadly, day after day, and year after year.

But, nobody is trying to listen when there’s knowledge being given

They start looking at you crazy, talkin’ bout “You trippin!”

“We don’t wanna hear it, lady. We just out here chillin’.”

So maybe I’ll try talkin’ bout diamonds glistening

Or who been drinking medicine.

Who’s holding it down and who’s telling it.

Foreign cars and swallowing children.

Popping bars and powder drizzling.

Movie stars and all their business.

Fake body parts and who’s been getting them.

Who sold their soul and who out here Boss Pimpin’.

Who lied knowing good and well they did it.

Or whose been denied from some type of public assistance…

When I’m just trying to feed their minds and possibly share some wisdom.

But they don’t wanna feel it.

Ain’t trying to get near it.

Like starting and finishing.

Finding peace from deep within.

Being comfortable in your skin

And practicing some discipline.

I’m still gonna take my place, i.e. positioning.

From negativity, distancing

With an utmost quickening.

I can’t stay quiet, because so much of this sickening.

So I reach for my pen again before my words start diminishing.

Empowering not devouring our next of kin.

Nurturing the greatness we all know lies within.

To raise up this generation, if not now when?

So we can stop complaining.

Break out the violins.

Someone spoke to me, why shouldn’t I speak to them?

And help fill their cups, but not too close to the rim

Someone spoke to me, why shouldn’t I speak to them?

Dropping Gems.

Written by Margaret Cohen – Brinkley, Arkansas

Feature Photo by Thought Catalog

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