poem: letter to the emcee

so it's national poetry month. figured i could at least post one poem before the month runs out. here's one of the newest ones i've written. i wrote this poem at a hip hop show while watching a wack emcee perform. goes to show that wackness can be its own form of inspiration. :)

letter to the emcee

i don't want your
wack rap lines
don't want your tired metaphors and limp analogies
sick of your false manhood and your oversexuality disguised as womanhood
do not want to see your button down unbuttoned three buttons down
do not prefer your short shorts and skirts
showing your breasts, thighs, chest, biceps, doesn't entice me
nor does it make your rhymes have skill
I don't care about your endorsements
about your mixtape download remix
your jesus piece doesn't matter to me
your rented cars and fronted g4 flights bore me
could care less about your record deal, your advance, the units you pushed, the gold platinum you sold
don't care about your crew, your set, your peeps, your hoes
don't want to hear about your sexual exploits
about your tongue's run in with bottles and cans
how much money has changed hands
how much tapping and banging and smashing
about your high class vacations and exclusive hotels
so what?
oh well
i. don't. care.

what i like
what i wanna see you do
is stand on the corner in your own hood
shove one hand into the pocket of your hoodie
place one hand on your chest
pull that hood over your head and ears
and listen to your heart
listen to the streets you came from
tell me a story i've never heard
tell me a story i've heard a thousand times and help me see it through new eyes
break out your spiral notebook
scrawl. scribble. write.
until your hand cramps up
until the sun comes up
until your lunch break is over
until your boss catches you
until all the words in your head rest
so you can catch shuteye for a few hours to wake up and do it all again

rhyme.
while you restock the shelves at walmart
after you put the kids to bed
while your math teacher lectures equations
unspool the lines wound in your head
hold them in your mouth until you can give them a place to play

i don't need you to be pretty or rich or sexy or gangsta or hood
i need you to be an artist
a master of ceremony
who finds the break beat
laying rhymes into it like so much mortar and brick
building verse and chorus with the technique of a sculptor

freestyle
like your family's mouths depended on it
like the beat beats in your chest
like hip hop runs through your capillaries
give me music to listen to
prove to me that keep it real is no cliche
make fresh and dope and cool more meaningful than words marketing companies throw on ads and tshirts
tell me the hook so i can say it after you
so i can raise one hand in the air and keep it there

i'll be waiting for you
with an old set of headphones, a boombox and an mpc
please
for me
just be an emcee.