A Poetic Life

By Ink Stains

A polarizing collection of poetic musings that illuminate the struggles of the African-American male. Each work evaluates the complexities of the black experience from various perspectives and is meant to precipitate discussion. Ink Stains utilizes his political art as a means to collapse emotional barriers and inspire empathy from those that have rejected the tribulations black men face. Infused with both poignancy and triumph this collection speaks to love, religion, politics, and race relations. (N. A. Robinson) A work of art which resonates deep within us by continually speaking to our souls.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781646285266

Book preview

Introduction to Awareness

Awareness: The quality or state of being aware: knowledge and understanding that something is happening or exist. Promoting a heightened awareness of the problem. (Merriam Webster Dictionary)

Awareness: Concern about and well-informed interest in a particular situation or development. (Oxford Dictionaries)

Awareness is the ability to directly know and perceive, to feel, or to be cognizant of events. More broadly, it is the state of being conscious of something. (Wikipedia)

Who Am I?

Welcome to my brain.

Here is where life’s weaknesses begin to slowly die,

Where strength of future hopes shall rise.

Amongst these pages are where I run to deluge my sorrows.

Here is where I turn despair into better tomorrows.

My thoughts are drawn here to face my flaws and fears whenever my heart starts to sour.

I’m also drawn here to fight the power.

Within these covers you will find a plea for love in my strange, solemn way.

Each page screaming at the societal sicknesses to which we bear witness every day.

On display will be all the faults within me.

The selfish ways I survive the cost to be me.

My virtual existence, a subliminal portrayal of faith.

Condemn me for my commitment, but this is how I pray.

Expose a man too long to evils of the world in which he lives, and it becomes literally impossible to think positive.

Oftentimes I find myself trying to go stealth by allowing my alter ego to step up, and take my place onstage.

Sometimes I replace the real me until I can retrace my steps to where I can feel me.

It’s like I’m being chased to a safe place where I don’t have to conceal me.

A place where I erase all rage from my mind as I battle demons.

A sanctuary where I can actually feel freedom.

Flip a page, turn two, why not three?

Explore my hopes and fears as you peer into the thoughts of my inner me.

I am Ink Stains.

My Story

Remembering back to yesterdays when I was just a kid.

All the games I played, all the silly things I did.

I was a jokester who liked to have fun.

Unfortunately, it sometimes would come at other people’s expense.

A habit I’ve been correcting ever since.

However, I wasn’t the bad boy on the block, not even close.

Still I held my own with most.

And although I wasn’t the big dog I had plenty of bite.

But only when forced to fight.

Rarely was I found running around when the city turned on the streetlights.

The rule was Be in the house before dark.

If I wasn’t I knew my butt would be on fire.

That’s the way most every kid in my neighborhood thought.

But not all.

Still, there was a time or two when I snuck away to play while my folks were out and about.

Did I draw my father’s ire if ever I was caught? Hell yes!

Do I regret the one time my actions made my mother cry? You bet!

Were there sibling rivalries? Of course!

With five brothers and one younger sister, I certainly wasn’t the first to make things worse.

I was pretty astute in school, at least until I discovered girls.

Then I became as did most young fools let loose upon the world.

Back then a girlfriend was a totally different story.

Today my wife gets all the glory.

Actually, I’m surprised at my luck because it took quite a while for me to wise up.

I guess good sense is inherent but common sense is learned.

If you wanted street cred, respect had to be earned.

The gang violence that I grew up hiding from was both normal and alarming.

So I sought relief and found peace when I retreated to the Army.

I left the mean streets of the city where it seemed everyone had a gun,

To join my own gang in green so that I could legally carry one.

I could blame my retreat on the lack of jobs.

Maybe it was inspiration from that pretty-eyed girl with skinny legs who made my heart throb.

She helped me to know it was time to let go of childish things.

It was time to become a man.

Either way I realized my future was at stake if I continued to partake in youthful sins.

Until maturity set in, I envied a lot of my friends who had good-paying albeit dangerous jobs.

They stayed on the dodge while slinging dope.

I really couldn’t knock it because they kept deep pockets.

But I was too naive, and even more afraid of my pops to go that route.

So I walked around broke.

I vaguely recall a few nuttier buddies who somehow got involved in a gruesome murder, and fled town on the run.

The last I heard, all but one got busted.

Then there was my good friend who ended up dying at the hands of someone he trusted.

Let’s not forget those who lusted and became a baby’s momma or a daddy far too young.

I used to envy those too-cool bros who had mad rap game. I had none.

They lived for the weekend to chase hos and raise skirts.

I see now how blessed I was to spend my Sundays giving praise in church.

There’s so many youthful bad and sad stories which my mind could uplink.

Certainly more than one lifetime should allow.

All I can do is look back and think,

Where are they now?

You may find it hard to believe that I never tried drugs.

Nor did I take a drink until my twenty-first birthday.

After one too many chugs and later blowing chunks, I’ve never again been so thirsty.

Looking back and looking up, I can’t be grateful enough for my parents’ discipline and love.

I am forever thankful for their preaching, and teaching me the right way.

I know it is because of their fortitude, and the grace of God that I am speaking here today.

This is not a lie story.

It’s not me making up an excuse why story.

This is a how I tried story.

This is my story!

And I’m sticking to it!

That Kid

Allow me to introduce myself.

I’m that little kid who scampered into your store with ten dollars’ worth of coins in my pocket.

You hollered Damn! then questioned where I got it.

That same skinny kid for whom you had no time for because I wore baggy jeans?

I’ll admit that showing one’s split would be a bit extreme, but that’s not my fashion thing.

If you’d taken the time maybe you would know I’d yet to grow into my big brother’s hand-me-down clothes.

Why don’t you remember me?

I’m that kid who makes you cross to the other side of the street whenever I walk your way.

That kid to whom you never would speak.

Except maybe to say, I’m calling the police!

The kid who didn’t go to college because I was led to believe I didn’t possess the necessary tools.

Yeah, I’m that kid carrying around knowledge which I was discouraged to use.

I’m that kid whose playground was a gravel pit. But you couldn’t give a shit.

The one who once fell into a water hole, whom you told to sink or swim.

You knew I had a snowball’s chance in hell.

Even if I rose again my chances in life were just as slim because I was already set up to fail.

I was that innocent little kid who got pulled over with my father right in front of our house,

Just because he drove a nicer car than some envious cop.

At that time, I was too young to know if my hands moved quick or even too slow we could’ve been shot.

I guess some things never change. It still happens a lot.

I know you remember that athletic kid in the hood who was led to think my only way out was football, or basketball, as long as I shut my mouth.

Luckily for me my parents, yes, I have two, taught me that education would give me clout.

Still don’t remember my name?

I’m the same kid who walked all those marches because her mother taught her to stand for a just cause.

And whose father insisted she speak up.

Who quickly learned to fight or else get beat up.

I bet you didn’t know I became a CEO.

That same impressionable kid whose teacher said would never keep up, at the ripe age of eight years old.

What the teacher didn’t know is that with a little confidence and steering I earned a degree in engineering.

That competitive kid who was livid after working twice as hard to earn an academic achievement yet the faculty refused to give it.

He rose above their hypocrisy to achieve a BS and a master’s degree. Yup! That’s me.

I am that teenager who brought in cash to open his first bank account, and you joked I was a drug dealer, or maybe an armed robber.

You should’ve saw your face once I assured you the money was raised from entrepreneurial pay earned as a barber, my side hustle to help make it through college.

I’m that same kid you called abhorrent because I had an exposed tattoo.

I wonder if it was because I was black too?

You seemed to let it affect you when I showed up early, about two-thirty, at your interview door.

You still made me wait ’til well past four.

Saving me for last then tossing my résumé into the trash.

Thank God! That kid believed in himself more, and all was not lost.

In a few short years that kid became your boss.

Now that we’re properly acquainted I hope your impression of me is no longer tainted.

I am just a kid who comes from a different socioeconomic perspective.

Like that kid who as a young girl got knocked up while hoping for love and affection.

Whose daddy was either dead or locked up, leaving her neglected.

Like any inner-city kid hooked on drugs because it serves as a distraction.

Confused boys and girls trying to run from their own complexions.

Like most kids armed with guns and no direction.

Only a perplexed finger reflex and short life expectancy.

Like all the kids with baggage claims full of abuses that you call lazy excuses.

Kids who end up penned up and labeled as useless.

Kids that a judge thinks he can correct by taking away their rights.

Covering up the lies that we were ever a priority.

Like every kid in the minority whose plight is pre-accepted.

This life is the life kids like me have been trapped with.

It’s not our faults.

We’re just kids who stumble and fall.

You’re the adults.

You’re supposed to look after us all.

Not shoot us down like prey and make us feel continually stalked.

Not lock us up, so every day you can wake us up to tell us when to speak or where to walk.

I guess I’m one of the luckiest of the unlucky few.

I snuck away while you were slaughtering the other lambs.

Now do you remember who I am?

Yeah! That kid.

Black History Month

Those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it.

—Sir Winston Churchill

I’m sure many of you will find my words contentious.

However, this thought is no new invention.

Hardly if at all do we hear mention of the African Americans who have helped engineer this country to become great.

When it came to history we’ve been forced to wait.

Then along came a spider called Black History Month.

Spinning his web aimed at keeping us appeased.

Another of man’s deceptive stunts, like free lunches and government cheese.

While suburbia school bookshelves are filled with a wealth of knowledge, our urban communities are not allowed to access such power.

In fact, the history of blacks is rarely if ever taught during primary or secondary school hours.

We can find more about our perceived black power covering floors in grocery stores.

Overpriced magazines and books about celebrities who are now crooks,

This is the propaganda we’re most likely to see.

Seems like the Bible is the only book that we can look at for free,

Even that comes at a cost.

Teaching us to submit and, stay on our knees, begging please.

We’re not encouraged to ask questions about where we come from.

And we don’t dare task our oppressors with our future outcome.

We’re expected to be thankful for where we’re at.

Taught that our only disgrace should be our skin is black.

We are told we’re supposed to feel privileged to forget our past.

We should act like we are proud, patriotic Americans,

Embrace our slave master’s heritage, and be grateful to honor our founding fathers.

We should be thankful for the favor we were used as labor to build shrines.

Monuments of times, housing ideas for us to believe in.

Cement buildings and statues we pay for passage to visit,

Reminders of the citizenship we’ve been gifted.

Exhibits of strength and power.

Theirs, not ours.

Is it just me?

Can’t you see all the blasphemy hanging in museums and art galleries?

Do you not read the fables proclaimed in presidential libraries?

Everywhere we go there’s folklore that can be found in a bookstore.

So many lies yet our truth is not for sale.

We have to pass down the line of old stories and wise tales.

America will never display truth pictures of our unpublished black scriptures.

Our rich history began long before the horrors that invaded our sacred shores.

And it did not end in the bellies of the dark galleys which we were stole away in.

Lest we forget,

The craze from those horrific days were not the first taste of sin for Anglo men.

Just like everything we’ve overcome since, wasn’t our first win.

Nor will it be the last.

Which is why our black history should never become our past.

So I implore you to go explore.

Young people, do not let your arrogance claim inheritance from the ignorance of your own existence.

To experience progression, we must all learn from our history of lessons.

Go frequent black cultural centers and check out a book.

Read an article you may have overlooked.

Sit and talk with wise elderly persons.

Listen intently to hear their version.

You can also gain invaluable comprehension if you pay close attention to current world events.

Perhaps then you’ll realize with your own eyes that your black history is not so distant.

And maybe the next time that you’re locked up at school, caught up in your American history class, you won’t be too dismayed to ask, or too afraid to challenge your teacher whenever possible.

Remember he or she is not your preacher speaking the gospel.

In fact, chances are his direct ancestors rode in front of the same busses that ours were forced to squeeze tight in the back of.

The same ones making a fuss to give up our seats whenever there was a lack of.

Understand that woman or man at the front of the room is just another messenger attempting to shape your equation.

And you are the same colored passenger seeking a different destination.

Finally! Before you blindly board that vessel allowing your spirit and mind to wrestle like top-chart hip-hop fighting against classical, you should know it is best that you follow the drums of your own heartbeat.

Ignore the alluring tunes of the Pied Piper.

Then if and when the truth becomes too hard for you to decipher,

Consider the source! Consider the motivation! And do your research.

Even if it hurts, when you find what’s real spread the truth like procreation.

Pick up the mantra of Each one teach one.

Because when it comes to our rich but blistering history it is time we uncover all of the mystery.

Let’s make February be Forev-uary.

Mentality

Remember our past,

Embrace the present,

Chase your future.

The Difference

I refuse to conform, nor will I be left out.

I won’t stoop to your norm, instead I will sprout,

And rise above your limitations.

You see, I am the start of a Can Do generation.

Too profound to be kept down.

It’s not enough to call me proliferate.

That’s right! I’ve worked thrice as hard to obtain all that I am gifted with.

That is the difference.

No, I don’t expect you to praise me, nor pretend to be proud.

Yes, it took a village to raise me.

Which is why I am covered under a shroud,

Wrapped in love, support, understanding, and discipline.

Brought up with supreme competence and the confidence of ten thousand men.

Yet my strength comes from within.

Once again! That is the difference!

I don’t know how it feels to be entitled, but whatever I start I must complete.

Push me around, knock me down, then stand in awe as I get back up.

I have the determination of an unbridled beast.

I don’t believe me winning is good luck.

It’s the thirst from each endless minute of preparation.

It’s every negative incident I used as motivation.

Every positive instrument of inspiration that I chose,

And the benefit of so much love and support at my disposal.

Just in case you somehow missed this revelation,

What you see before you is an unrecognizable kind of me.

An exceptional type of magnificence.

I understand this might be too difficult for you to believe,

I’m not just different.

I don’t just walk different,

I don’t just talk different,

I don’t just have thoughts different.

One more time,

I’m not just different.

I am the difference!

Life’s Interview

Well, let’s see.

You’ve obviously worked twice as hard.

It seems you have achieved thrice as much.

I assume you pray to God

This can’t all be good luck.

It says here you rated better than all the rest.

I bet your mommy and poppa must be proud.

Unfortunately,

We have another candidate in mind.

I’ll admit it is someone who’s much less qualified.

It matters not who scored best.

Here we don’t give too much credence to such a process.

And any grievance will receive far less.

There’s no need to inquire, many before you have come and tried.

I assure you, it is I who gets to decide.

Now, now! Let’s not fill up with rage.

You’re borderline tinkering on irate,

Virtually on the verge of crying.

Would it help if I assured you one day you’ll catch a break?

Then you’ll have no problem getting hired.

Have you ever thought of a career in door-to-door sales?

Your interview has been quite inspiring.

Also, I must say that your résumé is top-shelf.

But if you are honest with yourself,

Most potential employers would think you were lying.

Anyway, have a great day.

Good luck in your future endeavors.

I wish you the best of future success,

Whatever the path you choose.

Going