Good evening to London. I’m glad that you’re watching this.
I’ve got something to say about poverty consciousness.
I had to share my thoughts so I could get in for free,
and since I can’t afford beer I guess I’ll settle for tea
To Kipps Lane, to Boullee, and to old Cheyenne;
I still live in your shadow, but I know what I am
The prodigal son, a boy who reached for the sky
Became a man whose potential is eclipsed and denied.
Remember the days when I was idealistic and fiery.
Now I feel broken and jaded ‘cause you won’t fucking hire me.
And I don’t want your hand-outs, I don’t want your charity,
I want to stand on my own and lay to waste the disparity
Between the way that it is and the way that it should be
‘cause if you gave me the chance I know that I could be
Everything that you want, just what the company needs;
I’ll even smile politely and ignore the corporate greed
that poisons the poor and wraps them up in their silence
Because the threat of poverty is a form of violence.
But the anger inside me is the dark destroyer
Now I’m afraid one of you is a potential employer
And I’ve said too much in this poetic confessional,
Instead of holding it in to be insane but professional.
Though here among peers I should feel safe when I rant;
I should relax and seek peace but somehow I can’t .
11 days till they come to me calling for rent
But my money and soul have already been spent.
On the verge of panic, overwhelmed in despair,
I look out for a minute and I see she’s still there
She turns the shame into love which is unconditional;
She doesn’t say it with words because my girl is subliminal
She is the last and the strongest of all of my muses;
She sings me to clarity when all else confuses.
She chose an imperfect poet as her husband and lover;
I’ll save my busfare and walk so I have change for her cover
Because if she wasn’t here, the whole house would be empty;
My girl is my world; she maintains my identity.
She is my moment of respite, the one thing anomalous
That allows me to cope with my poverty consciousness.