Thursday, June 04, 2009

Posts from the BB

Wrote this a few months ago, can't say where I was or what the hell was going on to make me spaz but this is the result.

The my Jamaica is dead,
Truly with the rising death toll and the over growing monster of our gun culture,
The my Jamaica is dead.
Fuck the white sand beaches
23 never had a chance to live it,
Drench my self in lubricant at Hedonism and find a rich white man interested in Caribbean flesh cuz that's what I am to him and to you.
You see me but you don't give a shit about the my Jamaica
What happens in the banks is high level Enron shit but everybody's fucking corrupt so what we see is the working class 10% feeding the politicians and the gun man their meals.
The my Jamaica is dead
The culture gets diluted by baseball caps two sizes too big with NYC embroidered on the front misses the total care that granny used to take to make her elaborate straw hat she wore to church when yu born and christen.
Sent overseas we are idolized for being hardworking and having a violent I don't give a fuck attitude,
But fi real I don't give a fuck
What can u do to me foreigner that my bredren hasn't beat u to?
The my Jamaica is dead.
The hospitality u see is the facade of a woman trying to ensure that her pickney dem can eat pon Sunday,
that rice and peas is never missing from a Sunday plate,
So yes she smiles and accommodates while u look on her as if she's not a fucking human being,
I just sell sah, the toilet roun di back
The shit house of course that she can't use and her babies still shitting in the grass on the walk home
The my Jamaica the culture and country I would lay down my life for continues to steal my breath,
I look at the old and the young both begging on the same side of the street and pray that tomorrow is not the day I have to join them.
The my Jamaica of donkey rides and trains and coronation market where I used to get a $20 white dolly wid yellow hair and wonder if a soh white peeple really look?
Wondering what kind of rundown and mackerel me modda ago cook tonight fi mek sure seh her big daughter have hearty food,
expressions of love shown through how we share how hard we work how unbelievably loud we get.
The my Jamaica is dead
And I one of the children who have grown to realize it
because I have been on the crux born in time to get some the ninety year old wisdom,
but young enough to know that when its dead its blood claat dead and I have no clue who's to resurrect it.
Me? Rebuild the place I love and call home? How and with whom? My cohorts are full of NYC and MIAMI pride but shudder at the thought of Kingston at 12am.
The my Jamaica is dead.
Stomped out with Tims and fake Louboutins.

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