Broke the Mold (2019)

Your dialect will determine your destiny,

I never let my wordplay get the best of me,

Even though poetry is obsessed with me,

Credit my maker for testing me,

Revealing my greatness for all to see,

Writing brings me peace,

Storytellers are guardians of memory,

We free people with our speech,

Or with what we write,

With that I defeat wickedness, fear, and doubt,

With all my might,

I’m Black,

As in the darkness that comes before the light,

Poems designed to destroy

What racists set in place and controlled for so long,

The flow is so strong,

Teaching you right from wrong,

Or exposing poetry in her thong,

Wisdom comes along,

I fancy the songs,

My thoughts were once the hieroglyphics

Found in caves,

My word placement is the answer

To old prayers from many a slave,

Music is a universal language,

But in the wrong hands it can be dangerous,

Always cool when a message accompanies the entertainment,

I cultivate cults of creativity contained bliss,

Poetry sustains it,

Sure, I take credit,

But this is God’s talk,

Look how he beautifully arranged it,

Prophecy is about awakening who you are,

As in I’m the illest wordsmith by far,

I am to these words

What Hendrix was to the guitar,

My rebellious chants will eventually become the norm,

Facts inform,

But the truth transforms,

My Black fist overcame the scorn,

An evolutionist that sees past the hatred in uniform,

Poetry once fantasized about me in dorms,

The spirit went over their heads,

She felt misunderstood until I was born,

I added the balance, saved the galaxy,

Planetary relapse, not quite perfection,

Being misunderstood was my reality,

But back on planet Zudo,

I had them chanting “All Hail the Sultan” proudly

Like it was their nationality…