Lyrics make it a song
Bars make it a rap
too long and too loud make it a theatrical monologue
unfortunately open mics don’t teach the difference
Poets make words jump from pages to dance
with whomever / even when they are not there
Poets can make water flow from their feet
for everyone to drink
Poetry makes people responsible
turns dreams prophetic
so discipline your ego and teach.
The merlot on my tongue
won’t allow me to speak.
I stain my pillow with attached prayers of something
betwixt the Ghana of my mane.
I walk with a cane looped to my belt to beat a fall
design distance from cerebral lessons
I wear tight shoes to ensure carefully calculated steps
and disavow chances and dances with love.
taken from the book:
Get your autographed copy here
There’s something intensely intimate about cooking a meal for a man
then having him hold your hand across the table and say / grace.
In between the “I love you’s”
this is how we reconnect:
I straddle and clutch on to him
for my dear life and he /
recharges himself inside of me with all I have to offer / then
me and my man we go out and change
from the poetry book, Pocket Honey, Wind & Hips
She left this morning.
conveniently smooth like tap water /
Promises taped to her right palm for her to befriend the wild with food
She just wanted to be great.
Capsize time and defend her sister and brother
Look her father in the eye with familiar
Write down her Grandmother’s genius words
Learn the earth at the expense of her Grandfather’s back
She came. / throttled tone with soprano cheeks
social as corners
Intimately speaking is how she preferred things
but stories pierced her earlobes
diamonds to shine / hoops to dangle
pages to escape poverty
Like you / she survived through chances
stand offs against never and silence
She left this morning
after a cup of coffee
but prepared these words for you.
I must’ve mistaken breath for clouds /
my purpose for hand grenades
because, if this is not fire
I don’t know what living is.
If my hand isn’t in boiling water
or my thoughts at war
I don’t know a storm.
But somebody turned on the heat
And it’s not my jacket or coat
cause life has a way of
stripping away your fashion and
colorful bouquets of joy.
snatch your seat from under you
and make you stand
face to face with your past
toe to toe with love /
and as much as I want them both to be
they split me in half like mishandled glassware
make my sleep become / scattered marbles.
So I stay woke.
I see the cracks
I see the valleys
I feel the webs wrestle against
the satin of my face
I won’t take your hush money
or accept your violence as water
it doesn’t flow with the sunrise of my blues /
It ignored my SOS when I needed it most
so I will drive I will push
I’m going to create furious thunder for the skies
blow rapids under the waves
I’m going to make you feel this bass pummel from my heart
not some timid toned treble
I heard you speak / I’m woke now,
what else would you expect from a
The poem, Being Woke, by Nikki Skies for Rebel on BET.
Be sure to watch all the first season of REBEL this week on BET.com. And check out the poetry for the series called REBEL YELL. Here is the full video for the poem, Reverse Opinions.
Be sure to watch your favorite episodes of REBEL on BET.com this week! And enjoy the poetry on REBEL YELL as well. This video is entitled, “Scoreboard”
Be sure to watch your favorite episodes of REBEL on BET.com this week! And enjoy the poetry on REBEL YELL as well. This one is entitled, “bang bang”
Catch up with your favorite episodes of “REBEL” this week! And enjoy the poetry written for the series as well on, REBEL YELL. Click here for “Almost a Lamentation”
Here’s a snippet of the poem, “Being Woke” for the season finale of Rebel on BET. Check your listings to watch the “edge of your seat” finale episode to season 1 and hear the lead actress, Danielle Monet Truitt, recite the entire poem.