yo, why are you so nice?

see, this is what I like about you. your so personal. weather the metaphor in the poem is you or someone close to you, you +always+ find a way to flip and re-flip ish to the point where its not even words anymore. its not even poetry. its, movements, its photo frames, its motion.

I mean, this piece (and that other one where I keyed in an editor's review length response) is so dope that it should be illegal in some states. wtf do you think about when you write? what is your inspiration? I'm very curious 'cause this is so well constructed (except for the small sentence fragements, but if that was done on purpose, please correct me), I don't even know where to begin on complimenting it.

now, I have a short perception of it. okay, you had your father in your life. moms and you had split from him early, and it was more or so a weekend meeting with you. he took you out, bought you things, weared that cologne you liked. he loved you for what you were, right? but as you came up in age, dad started promising you a lot of things, and hadn't carried those promises out like he used to. he didn't see you as much, he layed off on calling you and checking on how school was, and he didn't invite you over as much. okay, I'm assuming that he and your mother had a lot of problems socially (mainly over you) and he just didn't like the pressure and responsibilites your mother "ironed on him" (as he probably said). so he and you gradually broke away from each other, but that last meeting had a promise settled in it that wasn't carried out, and so this is what the flower dress represented. the memories you shared with him.

mmm-kay, now moms has to recooperate from all that, and uh, a couple years later, she connects with someone. now, she feels that this is where she patches up the past with your father and all, and she introduces that glitch in your life to you. now in the presence of moms, duke's the perfect picture. but behind all that, you know he's more of what your father wasn't (or was). so one night, he goes the distance, and gives you a christmas present, one you don't expect, in this basement your speakin about. now your wearin this dress that represented your father, and in the post event, you feel dirty and betrayed. so now those petals on that flower dress are ruined and now that good smelling dress full of good memories, is douced with a bad one, and now that memory garden has been destroyed (boy, I hope I'm on point with this 'cause I'ma look like a fool keyin up all this, thinkin I'm nailing your intentions and I'm dead wrong). I'm not sure if who you were playin with represents a friend, a stepfather, your father or some other relative, but this is what I got out of it. correct me (if your up for it) if I'm wrong.

reguardless though, this is truly beautiful in its structure and storyline.

'bravo' a million times.

beyond_levels? you've got a talent ma, and I don't even think you know the extention of it. you hold your name up very, +very+ well. and I just want to commend you on being able to tap the heads of others with all the personal, opinionated, and thought provoking things you have to say through poetry. the language you speak is universal, and hopefully I can be the first to say that I'm here to listen, word up.

prosperity, love and understanding yo. you really overdid it with this one beyond_levels. a true masterpiece.


You need to take that ish back to the lab,
e-Factor

One man's simple is another man's huh—David Stone, 1979

I ain't living like everybody, my lifestyle is different from the next man, and my mind state is diffrent from the next man, but the bottom line is we are all young Black people trying to get ours. It ain't no room to be cutting the next man's throat. Because at the end of the day, white folks run the shit, and we run around in it—Mos Def, 1999

As a child, I was afraid of the storm, but now I welcome the rain—Slug of Atmosphere, 1999

The only thing constant is change—(Rakka) Iriscience of Dilated Peoples, 2000