stereo on my shoulder

My name ain't nigga

Wrote a little something, just to say my piece about it.

My name is not nigga
My name is not black hoodies, saggy pants and concealed triggers
I guess you figured that black figures could never get off the ground like shadows
Since I don’t make six significant figures I don’t say anything of importance
Freedom of speech is more like figure of speech, you hear me but you don’t get what I mean
Couldn’t figure out how to move my figure
Under my boot it reads ANDY, I’m societies favorite action figure living a toy story, go figure
Forever stereotyped as the color of people that carry stereos of all types on my shoulder
The “louder than a stereo” type
The “stare at you while you roam my store” type
The please don’t steal my stero type
The no elevator but you could take the stairs type
FUCK YOUR STEREOS
the only reason you don’t understand me is because you frequently tune pass my frequency
Ironic how everything I say or even my black silence sounds like white noise to you
Looking at me like you’re lost in translation
Looking at me like “his skins light and has glasses he must be MALCOLM X”
Funny causeMy mother named me M A L I K, malik also known as king
A king who is a combination of all things
All these names live within me
M: I am not Malcolm X, I am Malcolm multiplication, Malcolm multiplied by Martin Luther King equal power squared which makes me a master of standing for matter that matter
A: I am Alexander the Great, an ancient king anxious to change things around him. A natural leader who turns antagonist to allies and can find beauty in the darkest allies.
L: I am Langston Hughes, a colorful poet that us different pallets of hues to inspire you
I: I am Isaac Newton. an intellectual innovator who once set in motion will refuse to stop.
K: I am kanye west, I recognize how you try to sway me but “YOU DONT GOT THE ANSWERS” tryna feed me all these alternatives but to me “it ain’t Ralph though”
You can’t label me, I’m my own label
So think twice before you call me out my name
Bow down before the young king
And come correct next to you address me my nigga

I wanted to tell you how much I love you. I wanted to stand on your front lawn with a stereo on my shoulder and play the cheesiest, grossest, love song. I wanted to scream to you that I need you and that you are the one fucking person that can make me whole again. I wanted to buy you a massive bouquet of daisies, one daisy for every day your name slipped into my brain. But, your window was closed with your curtains drawn and you wouldn’t listen and you’re allergic to daisies.
—  c.h.