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Get Up

Every time I fall down, I get up.
I get up for every nappy haired knock kneed boy who was called a nigger.
I get up for every little kid that came from a broken home.
I get up for every kid that was taught to get low at the sound of gunfire.
I get up for every student that’s had a teacher who didn’t believe in them.
I get up for every brother who’s been attacked, cuffed, pushed down on the street, and thrown in the back of a police car for not having a California license plate.
I get up for every human being who’s been told that they ain’t shit, will never be shit, and can’t do shit about it.
I get up for every person who’s been told they’re going to hell for not going to church.
I get up, for every person who’s ever had an unrealistic dream.
I get up, for everyone who’s ever been poor, oppressed, endured racism, and fought through sickness without health care.
I get up for everyone who’s too afraid to get up.
I get up every time I fall so that you know,
Lying on the ground is no place for a child of God, regardless of what man thinks about you.
I get up for you.

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Truthfully

I may not be an award winning poet
I’m okay with that

I may not be your number one entertainer
I can live with that

My words may not be academic enough for your approval
That’s not a concern to me

My writing may not fit into your formulaic style
Conforming never crossed my mind

My spoken word may not have flair and theatrics
Tell it to your Slam committee

You probably want me to write more erotica
In my mind, revolution is foreplay for freedom
That ain’t erotic enough for you?

You probably wish I would be less serious
Tell it to the 99%
Tell it to the mother struggling to provide for her kids
Tell it to the teenagers and their hoodies
Tell it to the voiceless political prisoners
Tell it to the homeless man on the streets
Tell it to the soldier struggling with PTSD
Tell it to the innocent victim of rape
Tell it to the girl who was kidnapped and trafficked
Tell it to the innocent people dying in a war they didn’t create
Tell it to the lost soul trying to find its way
Tell it to your God for placing empathy in my soul
and the gift of words in my mind

You probably think I should write more poems on love
Love is the foundation for every breath I take

You probably think I should write about God
Who do you think is guiding my soul?

You probably wonder how much longer will I keep it up
The answer, until God tells my soul that my work here is done

Until then
I’ll continue living the only way I know how,
TRUTHFULLY

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