No Longer a Pacifist

i suppose i’ll write some prose

 before i overdose on my sentiments, 

cus lord knows that im sensitive 

fighting inside the pocket,

 sleight of hand leaving the pigs red nosed 

at what point do we recognize violence as something intimate 

paying attention of my conditions and revolution the life i chose

resolute innat decision 

these crackas judging me by my accuracy 

but my heart consistently where precision lives

my conditions be casualty, after catastrophes 

tap dancers on them i-phones ain’t moving the bones God gave em

muscular atrophy 

my therapy is passing the time within these passages 

masking cus of the cameras surveilling my actions and the airborne pathogens 

i’m coming for my place at the table

a head on collision, please don’t call it an accident 

title this poem, no longer a pacifist 

im bout that action, keep a hammer in case the news call me a activist

title this poem no longer a pacifist 

i revolve my daze around the sun

my mind becomes a maze in which i run within

my society a battlefield 

to protect mine i keep a gun within my waistband 

from swine and the wasteman

amerika a wasteland 

but still my daze revolve around the sun

my cage is my digital footprint 

zuckerberg on spook shit

keep my intentions within my fail to mention 

the tension within the airwaves

i know these crackas listening 

tryna ascend beyond these algorithms 

found revolution in my heart, mama i finally found my rhythm 

the prism broke on the day they built it

my heart goes to all my siblings imprisoned 

free em all from the fetters they riddled in

i revolve my days around the sun

offering bread and grace to the displaced 

i hate to see them emaciated

this society filled me with hatred

my tolerance putrid in nature

i’ll face my fate one day

standing over my oppressor with that 

“the rabbits got the gun”

ain’t shit ever been funny

i’m rabid and baseless 

they bugged the bases 

bunny hopping the gates when the jakes moving invasive 

cus

all this blood on the land

facing time beneath the sand

all the blood on that’s ona man

and if tha __ eva jam

ima use my fuckin hands

gluttonous pigs need a trim

facial and hair transplants 

give em a facelift and taper

cus the pigs some racist

rapist

elders talking bout “patience”

respectfully my luv, fuck that

nobody else tryna say shit

all this blood on the land

so when it come to boom to bam

we gone see who done came to dance 

Sincerely Yours, 

Malik TAH Ali