Monday, February 27, 2006

I Am Not Real

It is rare in life that a nigga creates something before he exists. But that might be the case with the poem "I Am Not Real" and A New Millennium Nigga. It is unclear whether A New Millennium Nigga created "I Am Not Real" or "I Am Not Real" created A New Millennium Nigga. What is clear, in this "chicken or the egg" scenario, is that their births, their beginnings, are inextricably linked.

In an unorthodox move, NMN dedicates today's entry the interest of not puttin' a brutha's bit-ness in the street, let's call him JGo...a brother who is standing tall in the face of man-sized grief and adversity in this everyday struggle called life. As a matter of fact, this goes out to all those unsung brothers who give all they've got to do right by their families, their communities and/or themselves. You are my niggas, my brothers! And that's my word! (Unless, of course, you don't like to be referred to as "nigga," in which case the vocabulary changes, but the sentiment remains the same.)


I am not real.

Allow me to explain
what I’m sayin’.
No, I ain’t lost my mind.
And no, I ain’t playin’.
I’m just sayin’
what I realized
when I looked at the mirror
into my own eyes
and hypthesized
I am not real.

Even as a child
as my moms and pops
each went their own way,
nobody gave a fuck
what I had to say.
I spent my whole life
trying to find my voice,
my way.
Then I realize
nobody gives a fuck today.

See, they want to hear
what real niggaz
is talkin’ ‘bout.
And when they sayin’ “real niggaz,”
Let’s be real, niggaz...
they leavin’ me out
I am not real.

Real niggaz sell drugs.
Real niggaz got guns.
Real niggaz wear jewels.
Real niggaz got funds.

I been workin’ at a job
since I turned fourteen.
And I kept my record clean.
Know what I mean?
A quarter million in tuition
invested in the shit I know.
But most of that was student loans-
No silver spoon for the bro.
Shit, my intellect is brilliant as afterglow.
Yet it’s like I should feel ashamed
for fuckin’ up the status quo.
Hell, no, I ain’t been to jail!
Was I supposed to go?!
My bad.
I forgot incarceration
was a part of the deal.
But that’s simply because...
I am not real.

Even on TV
I do not exist.
I check all the networks
and it gives me fits.
Either you got modern-day coons
displaying dim wit
or you got niggaz like Cosby
talkin’ dumb shit.
I’m lookin’ for me
and none’a that ain’t it.
When the revolution’s televised
I won’t even be missed
I am not real.

I rocked the SAT
and can write a bad-ass essay, b.
But in LA even the Mexicans
won’t “ese” me.
And though I used to chase ass
to the Nth degree,
I’m settled down now,
but I don’t get no articles in Essence, b.
‘Cause the community
just refuses to see
that there’s a lot of real niggaz out there
just like me.

But even though I ain’t real,
I know I can’t quit.
But I am gettin’ real tired,
‘cause this is real bullshit.

And that’s real.


Blogger JGo3000 said...

Thanx for the shout. It means a lot. And the poem is hot too. You speak the truth.

5:14 AM  

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