“I run with a toolbox fallacy.
I run cause you not as fast as me.
I run in a race to be healed.
What’s different between self-blame with some guilt and applying the barter system to the pain that we feel?
This is as we run from our fat ass problems cause mines way too heavy to chase me but know exactly where my place be, just to wait for me.Plus the way we hide our pain beneath the faces we make when we angry and the fake beefs, that I’ve been eating lately make the weight swinging around my waist seem like 3 thousand pounds.
Now as I pray, I speak out loud as if I’m seeking attention.
And as I shout, I plea about redemption.
Indeed I vow to christen myself now if repentance would help out.
See, religion’s not my style but on god, I beg for a second shot.And more second chances than my man gets when he’s jammed in by the law.
I’m writing letters upstate, as if to Santa and Miss Claus.
I’ll recant my initial thoughts of being belligerent as long as we can negotiate his freedom and innocence.
I’ll negotiate for my speedy deliverance and disassociate from the cost of regrets.
And that’s my second offer, so check.
Grief be playing too much at the back of my neck like its chasing me up a stack of steps in a dark basement.
I’m in my rearview like a car fragrance.
I wish things was slowing down like a car breaking over some hard pavement.
I’m hearing barbershop arguments, where my heart races.
Cause the same homies that usually start statements with “the problem with Black people,” be the real problem with Black people.And that’s still bargaining but that’s ego speaking for when a man, like me can’t figure out what to blame.
So we blame everyone else until eventually we blaming ourselves.Woulda-Coulda-Shoulda doesn’t save us from jail.
My next bargain doesn’t pay enough bail.
Neither does it put up for sell Black self-shame.
Nor does it help Black males to change.
So then we stuck in a wave full of guilt.
I’m either too tired, or afraid to feel incorrect.
Life doesn’t give you opportunities to apply the lessons you’re dealt through the errors of being imperfect.
But then hindsight can’t get more picture perfect.
The future doesn’t give a minute to rehearse it.
For your forgiveness, I’ll gladly give a tenth of my earnings like what we spending at churches & that’s my third chip.Listen, if I could turn back the hands of time I’d make some revisions with the wrong intentions cause I rather have more second chances than be alone with wisdom.
And if this my moment of intuition, I don’t know the difference between what’s just poems and my own existence.
I’ve always felt that if I wrote it down its sown in fruition.
But all I know is if that’s the case my homie would’ve BEEN home from prison.Last of bargains.
I’ll gladly pass my margins.
I’ll gladly trade these introspective and pessimistic rhymes for rest and a stress-less mind.I guess if you accept a dime and a penny for my thoughts, its got me wondering what a billion of ’em cost in my life full sorrow.
Living on time that is borrowed if only you solve my yesterday’s problem, I’d probably be right tomorrow.
And that’s a toolbox fallacy.” — CMD Chiimeh
