FTP: Feed the People.

I'm blessed. In spite of the stress from family, school and scrounging up moments for my creative process - I eat. I know that I'll never go hungry. I know that I'll always have a place to lay my head. Sometimes, I sleep well having these comforts, but I'm also tormented by that fact that so many people lack what many of us consider 'simple pleasures'. Food, clothing and shelter is not a given - it should be. Unfortunately, in our hypocritical, dream-selling, capitalistic 'democracy', we have an alarming number of disenfranchised people who have no idea where their next meal is coming from. This is where FTP comes in.

While many large nonprofit businesses hoard money and boast colorless directors, FTP is of and for the people. I've enjoyed being around the positive energy of these mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, artists, revolutionaries and agents of change. It's such an incredible feeling to hit the streets with a grassroots organization that truly turns thought into action.

With that, I challenge Metro Atlanta - and I leave you with a piece from my collection [If] Life's Rotten, Write to the Core.

To My Skin Deep Revolutionaries

My lyrics send intangible postcards
To pseudo intellects and skin-deep revolutionaries
“I wish you were here”
Because I refuse to spit sacrificial rhymes in ya ear
Which I release into space in the form of art
And abandon when I get them off my heart
I’m trying to reach beyond being a well-versed revolutionary
And transform into a rehearsed revolutionary
I’d rather turn my black back against the system
Than floss a koufe yellin’ “Black is back son!”
In the form of a souped-up poem
Having rhyme but no reason
Other than the fact that the notion of bucking the system is in season
Like cats who like to wear their poems
You know the type who find a cause and try it on
Like those really earthy kids who think being socially conscious
Is synonymous with wearing a multitude of buttons
Transforming themselves into walking slogans
So at best I can slap a skin-deep revolutionary on my bumper
One who, like me, knows the system is still a virgin
But don’t realize to get by we’ve got to do more than hump her with words
We’ve gotta love her with verbs
Love her until she bleeds justice and breeds equality
And accepts the responsibility of taking care of our black babies
I’ve gotta be more than a skin-deep revolutionary
A pseudo intellect or a watered-down activist
Taking advantage of words and neglecting action
Like those who sub their bling with beads to prepare
For their poems on Sierra Leone
Because their revolution is only skin deep
But I want my revolution to scream like me
So this is my lyrical postcard, and “I wish you were here”

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