Listen Within

Verse

My mission a mental vision voicing verbal missiles as the weaponry I use for teaching simple lessons listen let's explore who and what you are

who and what are we who am I what is happening within and around us... hiding behind books, raps, design teachings meant to help people I love in the world have my wisdom

gift the tools they need most to master what took me decades of work into so muchn like bhuudist koans, Christian long suffering and parables being mental chemistry weapons shields of simple complexity,

how to fill voice causing people no idea how to be alone and not find themselves blind bound attached and chained. by things that were never them

rewrite this and keep it going as a formal poetry koan parable comversstionsl hypnosis metacognition rap. instead of saying read. swap for listen. you get it.

**listen.**

As we go, you should know

there’s a whole blind sickness humming under human eyesight,

ignorance like an invisible rash on the mind’s skin—

not now, it’s too early,

just

**listen.**

Have you noticed you haven’t had a real chance to stop,

no time to build a theory or a shield,

you’re not agreeing, not arguing,

you’re just a quiet room inside a moving body

that continues to

**listen.**

recognition of

metacognition

thinking thoughts about thinking thoughts thinking

coerce you with conversation hypnosis

not to own or control you

but to loosen the old moulding.

the scrolling, getting angery saying“that’s just how I am,”

Who are you?

You’re the page, the ink, the hand, the eye,

the pain, the pattern, the sigh,

the question that keeps asking who’s asking

while you

**listen.**

Chorus

There’s so much hurt, confusion, anger,

so many limits dressed up as personality,

that I don’t carry anymore the way I used to.

People say I’m alone—

no lover, no perfect mirror body to fold into

but the truth is stranger:

I’m married to a mission,

walking footprints into fatherhood,

learning how to be a good ancestor

to a small human who didn’t ask

for the whole ghost of my unfinished work.

Verse

Woke culture just gives them prettier cages.

I hand out tools with my fingerprints wiped off—

years of work internal flow maternal

I speak for the ones who don’t know

how to sit alone without sticking to something,

who can’t tell where they end

and the chains begin,

who think the hand on their throat

is just “how life is,”

who were never told

that not all voices in their head

are them.

not the moods that stab you,

not the brands that badge you,

who is it that hears this line

and leans in closer,

even now,

to

**listen**?