N A Y S A Y E R S / Ever since they shot Martin Luther, They say we forgotten how to dream.Brotha Malcom got X’d out,And we forgot howNecessary it is toGet it by any means.We lost Coretta ScottAnd our sistas don’t know how to be queens.Comcast switching us to digitalBut they ain’t programming “The Revolution” to our tv screens.They say we’re not champions But like Karl Malone We never gave in We just played with our hearts out;Legendary status. So fuck it ifWe ain’t never brought home no rings.Blacks come together,“Because too much of us equals forever.”We once draped ourselvesIn the jerserys of Bibby & WebberRemember when we were Kings?They say we’re no longer in tunedTo the sound of beautyAfter we lost Leena HorneLet’s make our leaders of Black History Past remembered; neverForgotten, just dead and gone.The Nay Sayers could never peakOur plateau so just to tell them grabAl Sharptons loafers and to it keep marching on. Like Frank Lucas behindThe pen; I cook up these poems And serve em up to you in the rawest form.  | W O R D S | & | D E S I G N | NICK M U R R A Y
13th Sep 2012✧15:231 note
BUGG’N OUT IN BLACK EGYPT Journey through the city and you cant help but notice the sea of people, flooding the circumference of your eye sight. Watch them as they move in waves through the cramped slits between the mountain of city buildings. Wonderful ethiopians and negro pharaohs traveling at their own pace, searching for their own rhythm beneath the curtain of this here city life. Here you can’t but help feel the watchful eye of the Big Brother Sun Beaming down on your arm, leg and back. The beads of sweat dancing on your forehead. See the many different variation of shades and color, making up one united skin tone? Down Town Jamal’s skin is as golden as the light bulb in the sunlight, sometimes we call him Mecca. Kansas City Mike’s skin tone is as dark as Panama Lewis’. Now walk up Fifth & Perdue, do hear the syrupy jazz pouring out into the streets from Brother Daru’s Saxophone? Ragtime bubbling beneath your feet growing larger at every beat tasting sugary sweet. Sister Fatimah got tomorrow’s lottery numbers and the answears to life hidden deep in her purse. Mama Stoney in the kitchen cooking up a hot serving of fried cornbread. Its 3 dollars off top if you want a slice. Here you can dance at your own djembe drum  beneath the curtain  of this here city life. Black Egypt | W O R D S | & | D E S I G N | NICK M U R R A Y
12th Sep 2012✧22:38
WHISPERERS OF A HALF NAKED TRUTH Scattered truths worth their weight in gold.Some told and some half told.Some young others just a few days past old. Either gone by time, No longer existing Or breathing in continuum; forever drifting.What they took from us in the physical We resurrect through sound And worship through rhythm. Planting Kick Drums, 808’s, Hi Hats, Along with Snares; We grew a new religion. Hands on God’s willAs we steer our town cars Through the city with the volume On “most high” blasting our new belife systems. | W O R D S | & | D  E S I G N S |  N I C K M U R R A Y
12th Sep 2012✧19:47
     F A D E N O V E M B R   2011 You yanked the ground up From beneath me. Made me fall and knocked out The wind. When I found my footing I excepted you as truth. Lusted you for months on end Your lips were full revelation Mouth wide your tongue tasted of sin. Who but us know more about secrets shared between women and men.  I couldn’t wait to grind you, To roll you up, inhale you To breath you in.           S T E M E M B E R 2012 Said “I Loved You” because it  Simply felt good, Like smoke  Rolling off the tongue.  But then that trick wore off. Strung together a collection Of words, rambles and lucid talks And tied them into a knot. To prevent them from drifting  Into my thoughts.  Im stuck between what use to be And what could have been. 
11th Sep 2012✧21:251 note
E Q U A L / P A R T S I dedicate myself to the art of Plethora. In these dark days, Im an enlightened pusher for your local Gifted.  Im equal parts Myth, Dream, & Mystic. Both Curator & Critic, My blood type is Creator And my family tree is Cryptic. A chaser of dreams and an architect of physics. Cupid aint got shit on me. Young hearts are getting Jux’d. I took your mind as a hostage  And your soul is getting lifted.  Radicate the hate, flush out the confusion And antagonize the ignorance. A lie thats who we truly are Conspired against Pluto, We weilded together the night, moon and stars With my own hands I pieced together the resistance. I live in between Dope Street & Period. Take a right on Exclamation Point!  And you’ll end up on Interrogative Row Where they drink Old E, Turn LOL’s into frowns, make you denounce Your own OMG and question your existence. Im E q u a l P a r t s. | W O R D S | & | D E S I G N | NICK M U R R A Y
11th Sep 2012✧20:401 note
W I S D O M There are so many scars inside of people, it is incredible that we survive. Scars from childhood memories. Scars from dreams deferred. Scars from words, incidents and our judgments of them. WE cover the scars with personality, habits, and sometimes, drugs, sex and alcohol. We take our wounded souls into the world and pretend that we are not hurt. Yet every time we are confronted with an event similar to the one that caused the scars, the wounds are reopened. There can be no healing in our external world until we give intensive care and healing to our internal wounds. We may think we do not know what to do. We do. WE must first admit that the wounds exist. We must be willing to examine them, touch them and expose them to ourselves. Then we must wrap them in the most potent antiseptic there is-love. | W O R D S| KRYS CAMPBELL | D E S I G N | NICK M U R R AY
11th Sep 2012✧20:151 note
   U N T I T L E D  Im a writer that stopped writing, a fighter that stopped fighting. A bad woman who lost her marbles over a dying iphone and an unfound charger. Lost my wit in the midst of this internet shit, competing with time & receiving no pay roll for the hours I lost losing my mind.  But with confusion comes, clarity.  How about I give my all like charity. Heres to my drive that eradicates the worry, & heres to my effort that often makes me look like an expert.  Disremember the obsession with their turnt up visuals & remain the trill theoretic residual. Heard him say “made a super model hold my liquor” … me too, now I see the bigger picture.    |W O R D S| KYLAH BENES-TRAPP |D E S I G N| NICK MURRAY 
11th Sep 2012✧20:042 notes
L O V E PEDDLER / I want to roll you up.Light you on fire, blow smoke through your lungs just to Inhale you. And I’m hell too. I got dreams I can paint, lies I can weave, vials of compliments I can use to regale you. Promises disperse, honesty is fragile, And love is stale too. You don’t love me and I no longer hold the grudge, I just want you to use me up so I can use you, make your heart my rag doll, make a play pin out of it, toy with ur emotions, and tear you down. Im actually looking forward of growing tired of our play time together….just so I can shelve you. Dont Tell A Soul, But Warn A Friend. | W O R D S | & | D E S I G N S | NICK M U R R A Y
11th Sep 2012✧19:521 note
 S U G A R WATER/ We Are A product of fallen kings, Half dreams and broken promises. Zombies who parade around street pharmacists Crack babies birth into failed marriages. Sugar water, pop rocks, and mayonnaise sandwhiches, Mere sheep running with gold grilled savages. Children of a wounded age, Disparity and a lost of hope bleeds though our bandages. The reveloution lives 2 floors up in my project building, When reality flashes through, strike a pose and smile for the cameras. In my hood “Freedom” Is just a heart broken sex crazed atagonist. Lusting over a distant Lover named “Happiness”. But he’s unsatisfied with The extravagance of “Justice”, “Equality” and all of her lavishness. He dropped her years ago, Nowadays he perfers them Loud, fast, and ghetto fabulous. We traded in our True Relgion for Some knock off Christian Dior. Who are we really, Lost they say. We’re all blinded so I doubt we have any eye-dea anymore. I heard Ray Charlse snuck a glimpse And Stevie was believed to have caught Visions when he saw it. We drive luxury cars through the street of mars Get our product up the block on Planet Pluto And sling star dust and moon rocks Down the street on Planet Venus. The misguided youth of a diluted truth Crys out like kids chasing after ice cream trucks, While  Mayor Mariam Berry fiends it. Calling together all “Dope Boy Radicals”, “Hot Boy Liberals” And “Get Money Extremist”. Its time to “Wake Up”, cosume the pharse And convey it the same way Fishburne screamed it | W O R D S | & |D E S I G N | NICK M U R R A  Y
11th Sep 2012✧19:12
D R A G x P U L L / POCKET CHANGE Breathe more often love. If you want  a peace of mind, Take out your jack knife and carve yourself out a piece.  It’s as essential as your dollar morning paper, An early jog, or your favorite blend of caffine. Equal to, if not greater than the dragging and pulling of That paper box of relief Those 12 filters of escape, that chain of nictonie. As Imperative as that afternoon confrence call, That 2 hour briefing thats anything but…”Brief.” Or rubbing those 3 quarters together for that Evening snack from the vending machine. As crucial as that company funded first class fight Miles away from your morals, childhood, and beliefs.  For only $5.75 plus tax who  Haggled you out of your whole lot  For a lousy cold slice of that American Dream? Hail to the theif. In Hell? well… breathe in deep, roll your tongue  Exhale, now release. Breathe Love, carve out your own Peace. | W O R D S | & | D E S I G N S | NICK M U R R A Y
11th Sep 2012✧17:15
Opaque  by  andbamnan