His.toy.rec.to.me.too A face composed of him has not sung tears In practically four years This same face hides fear With a calm countenance of poetic jeer Where is his emotion? His seed was blown Before his birth was known His biological father a product of a time of political strife Had no time for a woman thus no femininity in the form of me his wife Damn! Papa was a rolling stone Hard with no emotion Laying hat to my womb Who had been taught as a youth that a woman should know her place October 78 bodies creatively collide in unison with jazz-fusion harmonic 9 months of emotional neglect 1979 an appearance of youth for life in Reaganomics Conceived out of false emotion At 8 months a bouncing baby was cradled in the delta of my breast Percussion cries were met with denies from his father’s woodwind until…until…until Damn! My two year old is not crying anymore His eyes are of piercing nature His demeanor that of an emotional subpoena As if he is to appear in court But how can this seven year old know about being found not guilty Did he think that society would judge? If he didn’t take Tonka trucks and push Barbie away Dirty hands no pre-meal scrub step-daddy called him lil man And with those two words two years later this one lil man was ten Baby face no smiles though Walking from school alone with headphones Walkman and while he listens to side A of NWA Me… Well I am working ten hours a day Musically he learned that a b*tch is a b*tch Ice Cube had him so cold Latchkeys had him so old Sitting at home in front of television No cartoons My little boy’s show of choice was Jeopardy Scrapes and scars make them stars While stitches are stripes earned from the cracks of concrete What is a thirteen year old? Ain’t no more big wheels and fear Little girls around the block took notice He spoke out of turn to them showing a feminine encumbering despondence They liked his attitude and showed him more than verbal love Created his misconception of womanly perception His stance on life was simple at sixteen No smiles Ain’t no Molly Ringwald and candles Just word battles in which no ladies would participate Creative but no direction His behavior was taught to be that of a savior Looking like Tarzan saving Jane when he pounded his chest Had to be stronger than the rest Rude awakening First semester statement “Man chic to me you ain’t nothing but a skunk like squirrel with the clothes of a girl” Tears crept from her ducts and down her nose crease Dudes stood there in dis-belief Where is the respect for the opposite sex He said some words that hurt like a heart attack He even felt it in his arm because all of a sudden it didn’t feel strong It felt like he had been lifting weights and she was the bar for him to hold While he was the dumbbell At that point a change occurred 26 years later More sensitive internally but No tears in him externally My son is this somehow maternal? I am talking to you but You have no _expression You only sit here….. With a beer…… Looking at women in a rap videos….. Embracing the term dog and hoes Not giving a sh*t Damn what I got to say Damn I am your mother seeking sensitivity And damn my son! Go ahead Be a man Just like daddy is Go ask him! Ask him! Ask that man that for years has not given birth to tears Never shows his fears Calls homosexuals queers Starts his letters with To Whom It May Concern instead of Dears Gets annoyed with women peers It began in the early years From Papa’s rolling stones and your taking Tonka trucks and crashing into Barbie That man a cycle reincarnated in you Damn your his.toy.rec.too.me.too Garrick Kebede