The Brain of the Unintelligent

I’m not gonna front
the whispers are killing my self-esteem slowly.
place after place,
face after face,
my mind whisphers back in acknowledgement, but not vocally
I walk in, they look,
I walk out, they look,
I see them both times, but all I do is smirk
and they think they’re the shit because they can look at each other and agree
with what their looks like to imply
on every face, in each place
except on me and in mine.
And they’re the first to say they don’t pass judgment
but it’s obvious they do
And when I call them on it
I’m wrong, but only in their eyes,
Because they agree with each other
And I don’t,
No matter the place
No matter the faces I’m looking at.
And when I don’t shut up,
they say “he thinks he knows it all”
“Look at him—
How can he stand tall if he’s so wrong?”
“Nah, you have it wrong — he ain’t tall, his head’s just big?”
So I shut up, knowing I’ve been damned,
hoping I’ll hear nothing more
but shortly after, I’m still damned,
vocally
In front of every face,
Within each place
So then I show my ass to aid my silence,
And sometimes
they compliment me
But to aid their compliments comes suggestive indecency
They say “He’s too forward,”
“He’s not calm enough — he needs to chill out”
Well, you’re too calm,
You’re too chill,
You feel you can sit back and engage in what’s easy:
doing what others do
chasing what others chase
Even if it requires you openly shit on me
Go ahead and conform,
but don’t try to knock me when you slam into a wall on your hate-paved street because you chased shit like bank and acceptance
you brown-nosing motherfuckas
I choose to show my ass not because I see it as the only solution
to what seems to be a problem of my own
but because
you’ve urged me
to show you the reflection of what I see in front of me
on every face
in each place
And I feel I owe it to you
I know I’m cocky, but how can I not be when they always watch me?
They want a show,
So to me, I’m helping them out, even when I’m disrespected in the process
I just wish they’d stop
and take my responses for more than what they seem to be worth
at first phonic vibration
instead of labeling me one who simply needs saving through
“tough love”
But wait
Where did I
—the one who needs saving—
pull each nuance if all I do is view and then pursue each surrounding inspiration?
From ego?
Not even close,
I’m tired of the acclamation that
we
are
not
derivatives of our
kid
us
not
environments because
I
am
not and
i
have
not
been one to dismiss my need
to pay homage to
that
which
made
me
the despised young man I am
And I choose to continue to be hated
Because that’s seems to be what keeps my image vivid
as an invidual
to each person
in front of every face
other than the one in the mirror
in each place
other than the one I call my own

OP: http://thebotu.wordpress.com/2011/12/31/2011s-big-lesson-some-spoken-word/