Breathing Life (Years Young)

Before you Read, Press Play above. 

Part of what inspired this poem...

Breathing life. One breath at a time. 

He was only…..He was only…years young. Because he was far too young to be any number of years old.

Dad always told us not to be wild. He said, “Don’t ever let anyone toy with your emotions. Because they will play with them until you are used and abused and eventually every toy breaks”. Dad said, “Don’t be stupid. Or go calling yourself or thinking yourself to be Crazy because eventually you will meet a girl named Deranged.” Dad said, “Don’t be wild.”

But he couldn’t help it. He was like Simba in his prime and he loved to roar. You see, the secret to his sanity was noise; Always consumed with being taken out of the world’s boxes. He stood out when surrounded by a crowd of millions…because he was the only one with a mic. And even if he didn’t have one, his voice would echo to reach every ear. He was a teacher. I mean, he could teach you how to love a rock. So what makes you think you couldn’t be taught how to love him. His words would resonate to touch every soul. And if he couldn’t touch yours he would take it, as if his name was Langston and you were Artina. And don’t think yourself clever enough to escape his grasp. His infatuation with the abstraction of a woman’s body surpassed all understanding. Because he would be that guy holding the sign for free mammograms with hands always ready.

And he was only….He was only…years young.

Momma always said, “Don’t bark at cops. She said shut your damn mouth. Turn that music down. Speak only when spoken to.”

“Because if they kill you…we will scream. If they kill you we will wage war on them, until the system changes. We will riot, and burn everything resembling injustice to the ground. We will march. We will fill the street with thousands of black men that look just like you. If they kill you we will change the laws to let this never happen again. If they kill you we will build monuments in your name. If they kill you we will fill churches with your friends, family members, and anyone who thinks you might have been a distant cousin. If they kill you will we cry; we will cry because you died. But if they kill you….you won’t be alive…to see any of it; any of what we have done in your name so shut your damn mouth, turn that music down and speak only if he doesn’t have a gun, my son.”

And he was only….He was only…years young.

Who would’ve thought you would no longer be breathing life. The victim of a premeditated murder; conceived long before being pierced with hollow point to belly button, nipple, nose, shoulder and leg shots. And silly of us to think we feel you; because we can’t. We cannot feel you. We cannot feel your pain. We cannot heal you; because we are not numb. And the pain we feel right now is unbearable. We are broken. And our soul hurts, because you were a part of us that’s no longer here. And no we can’t feel your pain. And you can’t feel mine because you are cold in post-mortem. And I stand here soul broken… enraged…hurt…building monuments and filling churches…

Because he was only…..he was only….years young. Breathing life. Only to never breathe again. 

-M.Seraphin

(Still about 3 more poems I havent put to paper. Losing my ipod I lost a many of notes. But I still have a few new things to post. Stay Tuned. Or catch me at an Open Mic.)