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Tuesday, December 1, 2015

mitishamba, the word

"follow these sentences as they do reveal the path i take to outline my mind's heart. these are things i art to construct the portait that makes i thirst. also known, desire. it was written at first. an unborn idea, yet aspire. writ then bitten then things part. and when you look back, it's either history or salt you have at hand. ahead has already been arrived at so side to side is all the present has. stationary. idle movement is not just an oxymoron, the devil might state this a fact. or his place of work. so the rate of mindless existence exceeds what could otherwise be summed in a word. its that broad path. a dollar bath. baptised in the waters of the pursuit of happiness as though desire requires a spark. yes, this is the idea born of art's construct that diviates from the original lines that were written in blood. the heart now needs money, to be glad."

mitishamba ~ pay attention, for free.
'green, no charge'

Friday, October 23, 2015

a washington life

"i live on a dollar a day. full of life, i give no one honor nor praise. content to be surrounded by animals that attempt a bite every now and again. some call them campaigns. others migration. i simply enjoy how well the grounds stomach a paige. slaves to the dirt they walk on, mindless of their own decay.  i'm aware. i know not to defacate where i lay. i have knowledge that leading a herd heard from a mile away is a deep seated fear of who has the final say. i let them play. make noise of my poverty yet reak of gluttony gone astray. unquenched desires that require more than a single washington to assuage. i a dollar a day. they in bunches know not how to navigate life unscathed. oblivious to happiness' pursuit not being pay."


mitishamba ~ cotton bills, pay up!
'green day'

Thursday, July 30, 2015

eternal slaves

"black history; slavery blinding bravery. bold acts weakened and told of, as a mind of the uncertain; wavery. catering to the tongue of fear, second steps that require a guiding footprint. or spine. the mind to think in vines rather than an elongated span. gaps planted in a memory that only knows servitude as its original stride."

all communities have reference points that they utilize for the sole purpose of unifying its people. i know my people are warriors. if there ever was a slave in my bloodline they were never my founding.
if you begin your history with slavery, your freedom is manufactured. how close are you, then, to your natural state, Mr Kunta Smith?!


mitishamba
'my history is green'

Thursday, July 9, 2015

hidden follicles

'hair under wraps. metaphors. fully filled is my presentation of self as fact. words of construct contrast with verbs as writing alone is life. word commands time. metaphors. i alone with a pen; gathered are many. metaphors. take for instance a stance taken in absence of a stand. mega thoughts. letters aligned to mirror the written verbs that drive Woman to be presently absent in samson's strides. metaphors. a begger of sorts that knows how to be humble enough to retain Her pride. hidden follicles. i'm smitten, Her walk a foot's chronicle. order, metaphors. oh how open i can be in hiding what She thinks. be the pen to Her ink. metaphors.'


mitishamba ~ hi, jabs thrown.
'green garb'

Thursday, July 2, 2015

the idea of black

what is black, really?! as vague a question as is the answer, this is a subject that matters much as the lives it purports to identify. if your identity goes only as far as the surface, how deep then your roots?! are shallow conclusions an indication that you lack a foundation?! lives unstructured, you know, missing a building block?! mounting inquiries to this status of black only adds to a fragile state of human structure. what then of this community?! its built in constant conflict of remaining upright, given joints that do not align cause friction towards anyone attempting mobility. be it upward, or simply a desire to be oneself, these acts aggravate those that cling at the periphery, the surface of things. such minds are merely grappling with flimsy facts about what defines one's heart. nonetheless, the current state of this grinding existence on an outwardly diluted identity, is a lack of a grasp on what predicates thought.

emotion comes across every mind as though it belongs, yet its often curtailed from engaging it deeply. i think. the latter thought betrays how doubtful a life lived in the mind. i think, therefore i am. doubt. i feel, therefore i know. true to thought, knowledge does become power and reveals how dominant a heart is, always. a heart that is constantly battled to acquire some form or identity, as its fluid existence is being contained. hindered from mobility by artificial joints, this collection of an existence is then made to look from the outside. it is as though the mind must control, making anyone with a heart subservient. at the surface of life.

black is heart. the art of living, able enough to endure caning and remain in love with a tree. with its bark turn rings, its the only structure that gives water form; soul.



mitishamba ~ green codes of my construct
'i a green'

Monday, June 22, 2015

i am my own audience

"freedom of silence. for when speaking marks callous. considering speech clouds independence; the tongue snares without violence. or balance. the seesaw of utterance doubling as a hazy, subtle weapon of heart. foggy awareness of my solace existence in word. the written sound. poking its way past silence with a voiceless tone. a thorn. an itch unknown. i'm torn. inside two beats i'm shown. the brightness of what is dark inside a hole. steps of the unborn. leaves that do not want to stay in form. they fold. fruit formation to protect a rose. growth on concrete. the making of a thorn. an angry flower denied a blossom. its points of exhalation placed forcefully on hold. waiting to exhale. or so its told. petals telling the story of cold beginnings ending on a stove. 'bait in ice' tale. the word catching a cold. frozen verbs in an audience of one. i and I. balanced talk. the thorn that pierces concrete makes growth a canal. stalk. a plant. the silent speaker of all birth as banal. nothing new. merely listening to myself gain freedom of bark. born. silent no more, i listen to the writing on the walk.'

mitishamba ~ my footprints are trees
' wildly green'

Wednesday, March 25, 2015

She verses God.

"She will be dark. the berry of a fruit grown so deep the soul turned bark. not back. salty wounds healed by the lot that left Her mental intact. not extract. digging was never allowed on this fertile, tilled tract. Her bossom cultivated cultures with a farmer's pact. this planter knows his plant. grows a tree whose root never separates from its branch. just as hair's intent is to grab. the long reaching arm of follicles laid on a sacred tarp. skin. bark. earth. virgin dirt. carefully pierced membrane housing the seed of fact. dark. black. an identity of night giving birth to what it carts. a donkey of sorts. carrying charts. ferrying diagrams, routes - the melodies that make walking art. this surface holds all moving parts. it is the skin cast as sin because of its lark. nursing amusing strands that give off oxygen while motioning nutrients from every digestive act. colon: a secret that survived the tongue becoming bark. cover. mulch. a trap. the same end to a beginning of air as garb. juicy fruit; Her food was always an herb. She gives root to the verses of word."

mitishamba ~ in Woman i trust
'green is i'