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Philosophistication Poetry (Logo)d


We know how to pluck
bullets from our father’s wounds,
bury bad memories in
our one roomed wardrobes,
there’s no fancy stuff for
those who are the staff for
the businesses that pay them
peanuts for salaries,
black berries, sweeter than your
glucose serums,
sleep late while we prey
on those with ringing phones,
we’ve forgotten to sleep,
forgotten to pray,
priests also prey on our wallets,
some behind jail walls while
sons are raised by gangbangers
in those fermented streets,
history too dark to glorify,
times too unclear to live through,
we are only taught to read in braille
counting the goosebumps
on some girl’s thighs,
that’s a black hood rubric,
we live in accompanied loneliness,
the mind still screams through
all the violence or the momentary silence,
we’re bracketed in gold bracelets,
gold necklaces and silver grills,
backward mentality,
we live in riddling times,
hard-knocked by life,
or maybe by man,
it’s really a hustle to keep breathing,
we’re breaking our virginities
at the ages of ten and also breaking
hearts by the time we are teenagers
I guess,
a lot matters, a worldview
is merely altered,
the altar is a place where demons
dance out their samba,
black mambas, we are domestic
beasts, best friends to the police
who hunger for bribes in their
fat pockets, we’re the kids who
don’t picture da Vinci’s paintings
when we bow behind pulpits,
and we lack the fear of falling
into the endless pit,
we’re baptized more times
than we take baths,
this is the anthem that is really
never heard of, it’s the truth
that simply pierces your logical

Easy money is a scam
in our mindsets,
we crave to be the Lil’s
who slingshot their pride
through the television sets,
satellites set alite our conceptions
of what’s real or not,
they don’t see us, we’re already
drowning ourselves in depression
and anxiety that is mentally normalised,
who really lied to my kind,
we groove to the soundtracks from ‘Roots’,
they remind us of our ancestors
who are buried in nonexistent
we feel better when we’re
in designer cloths,
gentrified and segregated by
the system that isn’t really
dead in our time,
when the majority of the protests
are from us and not our
other pale kindreds;
who then is a slave,
let’s live and let smoke,
sit on street corners and
marvel at LSD illusions,
we’re infused with undiluted immunisations
that still carry swine flu fragments
and more undiagnosed flues,
views from the six,
numbers are labels for
the hoods that we are willing
to catch a grenade for,
ideas are what we really crave for,
leaders are high from
smoking their egoes and pride,
gucci shoes shine, while some
kid wears torn flops to schools
hidden in the ends of the sunrise,
we don’t know what free really means,
they are 3D printing poverty
into our 2D worldviews,
incarcerated we’re merely evaporating,
we die with no purpose
that has been served…
real life drama; vendors die
and kids waiting for their fathers
in tarvens where they left them in,
what is education to my kin,
what is true love to my raped sis,
what is beauty to a woman
with a violent soulmate,
it’s all the crap that we live,
the beauty is in the struggle it may seem,
it’s mayday and we were taught
not to weep, so we die
within, and are buried behind
the walls of our ribs,
reality is black and real,
we’re black and we’re still enslaved,
don’t ask how I know that
reality that you were protected from
your whole life, isn’t that bliss…

We blow kisses at billboards,
crucified in those corporate cults,
we’re the ones entrenched when
the upper high are corrupt
fat cats with fat lies that are
echoed on media mainstreams,
you think tragedy is comedy,
and poverty is a tourist attraction I see,
I’ll watch and blink, act like I
don’t see all of your faults,
reason why majority of my fathers
are in the fire with the burnt malt,
don’t run away, our reality
is too scary, or maybe it’s too funny,
‘can’t you just move on’,
that’s what the ignorant ones
still say,
I’ll watch and slap you
with my painful past,
our lives are still located
in the arena of our forefathers’
colonial past,
that’s what this is all about,
we are fifteen in one shack,
you think it’s just an act,
it’s actually a comfortable fact,
forget I’m here, just keep
on living…
And democracy is a mere
charity case,
where are the reparations for
our trauma, we cannot afford
therapists for our dark past,
and what we’re facing nowadays,
hard knock life……
You cannot relate.

By Eugene ‘Philosophisticater’

Artwork from Jay-Z {Hard Knock Life}

Philosophistication Poetry © All Rights Reserved ©

Hard Knock Life

What’s the difference between privilege and poverty being prevalent in various villages. Is such a conversation worth noting; or are the poor just there to complement the definition of being rich?

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