Hey, I’m Steven, with a V, Nicholson. I’m at cotton Correctional Facility in Jackson. The name of my piece is “Population Control.”
Just a quick intro, I am standing outside,in the rain in the cold, in some shorts to do this poem for you guys, so here we go: “Population Control.”
Population controlled by school-to-prison pipelines. How was population too blind to realize the true side of this new age USA apartheid? Two types of schools on two sides of the old coin flipped in the midst of this new noise and still landing on the heads of the oppressed. Pales up, so we can’t look up. We’re bum-rushed even if we tried our best. So we get stuck up in our own hood by ghosts of ghosts wearing white hoods.
I got the next generation stuck again in middle schools like Ruddiman, another inner city prison labeled as a place for education. Being a Cody Comet was my next destination, but my sixth grade initiation was so flagrant with a visual so blatant of metal detectors like a castle gate erected as the only way to enter the south field entrance.
You couldn’t neglect it, though we were neglected, treated like capital murder was our future record. So we spit it on the record, but in public, kept it off the record. Man, this truth is too sick to keep secret whereas Tim Scuba gets to talk about our record off the record so someone in Langston can try to correct it.
And I got come correct with my message like I’m a political Tesla for me and you. I need to learn new MCL and ACLU rules to change the rules and infiltrate who rules and hopes to if we ever hope to change these schools. I’m sick of old school slave ways that have infiltrated brains and caused brainwaves of sick philosophy like dogmas tsunami season to deceive us and wrapped up like deli pastrami.
So dog, my suit is on me like Pauli taught me in Ephesians 6, 10 through 20. Touch me, you can’t harm me. Your threats don’t alarm me. The farmer in me plants seeds even in the face of defeat. I’m going to keep stepping up the bets to turn your brain current like I’m Nat Turner without the desire to hurt you. And still Nat, I pay homage to you because if I’m put in your shoes that probably didn’t physically exist, I’m going to fight the inner me to not filet the enemy like cheap tuna. That’s butchery with cutlery for free, no money for me like I’m wicked tuna, though they’re wicked too.
And, uh, I must progress to higher levels to crescendo a heart to forgiveness and those cycles of loathing by unloading bitter stock holdings and get going on love and tenderness so there’s no more coin-flipping business or rock-paper-scissor this. Just clear-cut acceptance on a worldwide basis. Accept this: only Jesus saves, and that’s it. Accept this.
These commentaries are recorded by Prison Radio.