Reasons

I do this thing, this thing called poetry. ‘Cause I believe the words I spit will one day become sunflower seeds planted in the ground so that the fruit of my labor can grow into a few of these new mighty poet-trees. With the hope that at least one can spawn an army of intellectual emcees armed to the teeth with passion and integrity so that they can use their razor sharp wits to defeat these diabolical destroyers of our creativity. As a young Black man I’m trapped on a tightrope walk, tiptoeing between reaction and reason ‘Cause there ain’t no reason why the younger men who should ascend after me have to die of ignorance because the media circus don’t like Blacks reading Yet for codes and colors they can barely comprehend Our youth have no problems killing and bleeding So lock and load upload on our cultural obstacles Literacy kills literally, so all simile bullet points fire like teen pregnancy (blam) and drug tendencies (ka-boom) politics using petty partisan pedagogy to make asses of us and force elephants in the room. So it's our verses versus the masses Our voices must transcend classes On the shoulders of innovation and classics, we become the new generation of pastors So we must preach tolerance and mediation, spread education not STDs. Imagination is all we got And experience’s the only qualification we need. So no longer need our parents cry over fallen sons and daughters and our streets bleed. No more Trayvons, no more Sean Bells, no more little Southern girls murdered to the sound of explosions and church bells. No more Sixteen then pregnant, we have other tools to use. If fame is your fantasy, look at Langston, Morrison, or Angelou. There are other avenues to wealth, and it’s all at our fingertips, so take a dip in this fountain of information and history; from our lips to the sky, speak it into existence Despite our painful past, we live in a nation filled with untold and untapped possibilities. That’s why I do this thing this thing called illustration; because the mind of a visual artist is a perpetual vacation you may not relate to me but let me take you on a mental excavation (dig it). Every time my pen touches paper, I’m like an archaeologist, I’m drawing up my ancestry: From cave drawings to the Mona Lisa, I’m part of a lineage that has the power to realign, to redefine, to redesign the concept of beauty. So through me is a portal to a perception of reality without time; flowing from eye to hand to lines on a piece of paper I’ve taken a sampling of everything that has made me: From traditional, hand carved Igbo statues, to Black children’s books by Jewish Ezra Jack Keats, from Black Panther, the first Black mainstream comic book superhero to my European ancestry’s old Arthurian tapestries I’m never ashamed of liking manga or anime because one day someone way out in Japan may be inspired by me I swim through rivers of memories hoping to find the ink lines That lead me to the next great masterpiece Our bloodlines are too rich to settle for mediocrity There’s no excuse for ignorance when knowledge is one smartphone, one laptop, or one tablet away from accessibility bordering on absurdity What’s wrong with me? I do this thing because I believe I’m not the only one unafraid to dream Not the only one unafraid to lead Not the only one unafraid to scream to the heavens above I’ve been put here for a purpose And this life, this blessing, this opportunity is all I need to succeed. So, what’s your reason?