Lust is a safe haven craving to work its way in

From Rivers Avenue to King Street.

We desired to be the roses that grew from concrete.

We craved attention in the form of acting a little different to distinguish ourselves from the masses.

Lupe would've been amused how we bought into dumbing it down.

We lived in households of poverty that begat households of poverty.

Did the electric slide at crab cracks with our eyes closed - a muted expression of our sovereignty.

Denmark and Jesse and Harvey and Ronald told us we were special; no need for the why's and what for's.

We lived in those locales from whence resilience was a rare summer's douwnpour.

From Liberty Hill to "bakta" Green; the "Hike" to the Forest.

Imaginations so enormous you'd have thought these geechie kids were nonconformists.

We are the spawn of generations of resistance to the machine.

The matrix is real. The horizon is bleak and lean.

The past is but a figment of your imagination.

The future of the Lowcountry rests in your hands - much like this nation.

I've been gentrified like North Park Village and dismissed like the Navy Base.

In our haste, we forget to savor the taste of affection.

My attraction became a distraction; now it's your deflection.

You use it to hold me at arm's length.

You don't love me no more, huh? I don't got the strength to beg for a hug.

You gonna just do me like Piccolo and play me lukewarm; a mere fiddle to your orchestra to which you shrug.

I've longed to see Morris Street dreams become the fruits of a nighttime harvest of fireworks, foreplay, and free will.

We squeezed our way into the upper echelons neither because we asked for permission in advance, nor begged for forgiveness after the fact. Simply planted our faces on the window sills and panes until they gave way.

A demand was made.
An envelope pushed.
A spark ignited.

Charleston barely got spared in the previous great blaze, but the fire this time will come with no notice; no warning; just footsteps, fists, and fury.

I miss home. Shout out to my peoples from Chucktown representing the world over. The EAST Consortium just may have to make a resurrection. Word.