Hello. This is Steve again, back for a few more poems here in Jackson, Michigan. All these poems were inspired in my Prisoner Creative Arts Program class from the University of Michigan. PCAP is what their name is. They’re a great program, just like prisonradio.org, and yeah, donate to prisonradio.org. They are awesome. They deserve it. They need it. First poem is going to be called “All You Could Ever Know.” It’s inspired by a book title from Nicole Chung, All You Could Ever Know.
A profession of regression kept me flexing dope boy muscles.
My hustle and bustle fed the addicts inner tussles.
I had an addiction to women despite their losing addiction
Hence, the regression.
Questioning my profession had me shooting,
Not with the Ruger
But well prepared stances explaining advancements
Of my business expansions.
If we meet and greet
We we can flee to my mansion but,
Here’s my knit hat.
Wear that.
You look cute in that.
I’ll pull that over your eyes.
You know Detroit is where I reside,
But that’s all you could ever know
Because you can’t know where I live until we get inside.
Oh, what a life.
Thank God, I learned that life was a lie.
The next poem is called “A Little Life.” It was a prompt given in class. “A Little Life.”
Dominion over minions.
Elitists struggle with their giving until uprising
So, they give in, and begin giving us minions a little life.
They begin giving us minions long days and hard nights.
Nightmares, screaming 3 6 9! through the night.
Should I see the sights?
A little life transforms to no life.
All work and no play
Like Russia’s old work week of 10 days
Puts a little life in a daze.
Dazed and confused by a little life.
Giving more life from your little life will grow life,
Will give life.
So elitist or elitist mindsets stop taking life
And give a little light by giving big life.
Just for context, the 3 6 9 is a game we play in class. It’s just a warm-up game to get your mind going.
Next poem is a song inspired by Tyler, The Creator. The song is “November.” It’s about my children.
Birth, baby girl.
Birth, baby boy.
2008 became great after doubts and mistakes but
Four years before my twins were destroyed
By an alcoholic girlfriend.
Grandma prophesied then to me, when I was 10.
I wondered what happened
and went back rock handling,
Though my intent was rapping
But dope money was faster.
Fast forward, back to the future.
The ’08 track.
Baby girl born.
Baby boy born.
Two women forlorn.
No, I was not hoeing.
In a convoluted way, Grandma was right all along.
Still, I doubted my involvement
So, we went downtown
DNA tests
Doubled down.
I won as full custodian
As pics on Facebook are still showing.
And for real, though,
I felt like a pregnant mother
growing.
Last poem for this rendition is a prompt that’s called “I was, I am, I will be.”
Recycled refuse of society
Is how DOC’s see people like me
Career criminal from the streets
West side of the D.
What up, though?
But I’m also from church,
Evangel, Stansbury
And Six Mile Road with Pastor Bogle.
But I gave in to the struggle.
Life burst my bubble,
And I caught a case that blew up
Like it was viewed through the Hubble.
That’s a telescope.
But for me, failure is a note
So I became who I am from life’s bad strokes.
Those are a fuel for the fire.
So, I am not for hire.
And life’s trials keep me burning
With desire to be fire,
To stoke fire,
To pull from fire.
I will be fire.
That’s it for today. I hope you guys like these poems.
These commentaries are recorded by Prison Radio.
