Until u toss out ur baggies of crystal shards… Throw away ur blunts…n pour out the contents of those bottles down the drain…I hear ur words but can’t let em in… They’re not coming from “u”… but from some devil u’ve ingested by liquid or smoke, making ur mouth move and speak words no sane and intelligent person could or would ever believe in…I don’t care about the name of ur god or ur professed religion. God’s Words mean very little if ur constantly choosing some mind and mood altering substance over the “true” duty u’ve been charged with fulfilling. This goes for me too… Give ur children the real u!… Not some iffy, scary, or inconsistent high or drunk u… What’s wrong with my mommy?! /daddy?!… Mommy I’m hungry… Daddy can u play with me???… No… They can’t cook.. And they’re too stoned to play.. Sorry kid.

Published by Pack Redfeather

I am a walking contradiction of traditions some say. An African American and Native American Muslim poet with a personal life history as violently turbulent as a Storm. A visionary from the bottom of life’s social barrel striving to share the hope found in the light of faith through sometimes dark but real poetry. I’m a former member of the Bloods street gang, former serial bank robber, and both federal/state prison convict. I live on my mother’s tribal reservation of the Leech Lake band of Ojibwe in Minnesota.

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