About Me
....
www.MySpace.com/TheStrssWhat's good to whoever the fuck readin this shit right now you've tuned into the Realist plenty niggas say it but don't mean it as much as i do quote me on that if you want
i'm strickly bout my cash flow anything else is erelivent
if you wanna know somethin about a nigga just shoot me a message an ask i'll get back at you when i touch back down but for now i'ma leave ya'll with a poem if you don't like poetry don't read the shit...... it's that simple.......
I Am Coming Towards My Greatness-...is the title an a true statement-listen
...I am coming towards it slowly, edging its hills like a dark capein moonlight, the way a distant car's headlights
cut into a room, tilting the shapes of desk and bookshelf,
making everything cast long shadows.
I am coming towards it the way some people come upon old age or a friend's illness: with great sweetness, with great fear and tenderness. I am coming towards my greatness like an infant, like an animal, snatching at its flesh with my gold, square teeth, with my hunger and my love of blood.I am coming towards it the way the braggart stands in a crowded room, abusing himself with his false accomplishments,
insulting the world with his indifference to his failure.
I am coming towards my greatness. I'm coming towards it
like a building, like a hall, like a fountain.
The waves are marble here: they froth and toss in perfect, immoveable
silences, cooling me with their stone fires.
I am working at my greatness. I am fighting it,
despising it: I am actively destroying my greatness
out of shame and feminine reticence. I am stuffing it deep
into photographs and mirrors as if it could reside there,
as if it could keep me honest or pure, though it must alter, die;
it must take me with it. I am coming towards my greatness.
I am stumbling towards it, dancing, staggering. I am turning black inside
with greatness: I am not gilded by it nor blessed.
I bear it, quietly, like a cart taking a load of strangers into the woods,
past the border and the river and all the other stragglers.
I will not be impeded by it, made pregnant with it,
vilified. I won't carry it in my heart or legs
but in all the little cells of the body, shedding and multiplying,
leaving me nothing to trust to but the security of repetition.
I am coming towards my greatness. It will not speak for nor will it sustain me.
It will not tug me like the weather over a planet's skin
or sheathe me like a scabbard does a knife. Small things
will still undo me, hatred will dog me every day,
I will not conquer my enemies nor suddenly be in league with my heroes.
If anything, greatness will make me smaller, more alone, living
in a place only imagination can name, where even empathy
swells and dies. I am coming towards my greatness.
It greets me like a needy teacher, it berates me like a mother.
I dream it is the face of fear, I dream it is the face of love—
I am coming towards my greatness. Even now, it moves
out there in the silk night, ambitions tucked into its dark pockets,
hating and loving me both, reading down its list of names
with its blind and unforgiving eye... , a
