I was the first
Birthed
From the
Mouths
Of my
Furious mothers
And fathers
On city corners and
Project rooftops
I was the first
Conceived in a million brownstone basements and row home bedrooms
I was the first
Birthed on black and white composition pages with a #2 lead pencil
My mother’s water
Broke
During Spanish Class
And she told my father
Who told his brothers, now my uncles, now my fathers, now my aunts, now my mothers
I belonged to everyone
And they passed me along – adding to me – adorning me with words and beats that echoed Ethiopian Chants and the language of Christ
They formed me curiously
Snatching beats from jazz, rhythm and blues
And hymns from church
They made me in the image of themselves
Which they saw reflected in storefront church windows and muddy puddles
They were urban Gods now
I was the first and
They were careful with my beauty
Remixing me with purpose
Until I
Emerged simply
Too Beautiful for words and so they danced to my rhythms
Forming dancefloors
From cardboards
I was the story
Of life on the inside
And they stood on their heads to express me
Took to the streets
To praise me
Before my mothers was ho’s and bitches
And money was the name of the game
And The Game
Was the name
Of the new Griot
I was beautiful
And my parents
Battled over my
Composition
What should be said in the name of them
That could not longer tolerate invisibility
Or the stench of silence
I was the first
Child of hip hop
And I was strange for some to hear
But that was then
When my mothers
Was queens
And my fathers
Was kings
And Hip Hop
Was the Zion
That
Held us together
Beautifully
On project rooftops
City corners
And crowded dance floors
That was then
Before battles left our mouths
And words
Became bullets we used to tear flesh not pages
That was before
Mother
Was a ho
And being daddy was a game
That was before
Making record deals
Was more important than feeding me
Now I fear my parents have lost
The image of the original me
The child they birthed in angst
The one that gave them power
I was the firstborn
The original hope
I was the firstborn
The original high
I am still here
Awaiting patiently for my parents to reclaim me
Honor me
Take me to a rooftop
And shout me
Take me to dance floor and shake me free
It is not too late
I reside in the back of their throats, beneath their tongues and on the tips of their fingers
It is not too late
It is not too late
I was the first and I shall honor my father and my mother so that their days may be long and fruitful
What shall they do in the name of me, the first born?
