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[bbbben10]

Neighbours

I am the type you are supposed to fear Black and foreign Big and dreadlocks An uneducated grass eater.

I talk in tongues I chant at night I appear anywhere, I sleep with lions And when the moon gets me I am a Wailer.

I am moving in Next door to you So you can get to know me, You will see my shadow In the bathroom window, My aromas will occupy Your space, Our ball will be in your court. How will you feel?

You should feel good You have been chosen.

I am the type you are supposed to love Dark and mysterious Tall and natural Thinking, tea total. I talk in schools I sing on TV I am in the papers, I keep cool cats

And when the sun is shining I go Carnival.

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Wot A Pair

I waz walking down Wyefront street When me trousers ran away, I waz feeling incomplete But still me trousers would not stay, When I found where they had gone De pair addressed me rather blunt, And they told me they were sick of being put on Back to front.

I told dem I would treat dem good And wear dem back to back, I promised dem protection From a friend who is a mac, Me trousers did not believe a single word I had to say, And me underpants were laughing When me trousers ran away.

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Dis Poetry

Dis poetry is like a riddim dat drops De tongue fires a riddim dat shoots like shots Dis poetry is designed fe rantin Dance hall style, big mouth chanting, Dis poetry nar put yu to sleep Preaching follow me Like yu is blind sheep, Dis poetry is not Party Political Not designed fe dose who are critical. Dis poetry is wid me when I gu to me bed It gets into me dreadlocks It lingers around me head Dis poetry goes wid me as I pedal me bike IÕve tried Shakespeare, respect due dere But did is de stuff I like.

Dis poetry is not afraid of going ina book Still dis poetry need ears fe hear an eyes fe hav a look Dis poetry is Verbal Riddim, no big words involved An if I hav a problem de riddim gets it solved, IÕve tried to be more romantic, it does nu good for me So I tek a Reggae Riddim an build me poetry, I could try be more personal But youÕve heard it all before, Pages of written words not needed Brain has many words in store, Yu could call dis poetry Dub Ranting De tongue plays a beat De body starts skanking, Dis poetry is quick an childish Dis poetry is fe de wise an foolish, Anybody can do it fe free, Dis poetry is fe yu an me, DonÕt stretch yu imagination Dis poetry is fe de good of de Nation, Chant, In de morning I chant In de night I chant In de darkness An under de spotlight, I pass thru University I pass thru Sociology An den I got a dread degree In Dreadfull Ghettology.

Dis poetry stays wid me when I run or walk An when I am talking to meself in poetry I talk, Dis poetry is wid me, Below me an above, Dis poetry's from inside me It goes to yu WID LUV.

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A promise completed

I grow up feelin hate around me. People think I was dum, cus I cudn’t read or spell rite. Teachers give up on me, kids laugh at me. But now I see kids like me speak up, show who they are, no shame, no fear. That make me feel proud.

Other day I was sittin in the park, listenin to the news. A boy come up with a big smile and say, “Are you the guy who rite poems about dylessixa?” He said it wrong, but I didnt care — I knew he was like me. I said, “Yeah, that’s me.”

He run back to his mum, standin far, watchin us. He shout loud, “See mum! He’s the one I told you about! He help people like me feel more confiddent!”

I just sit there quiet, but inside I feel warm. All the pain, all the hard times — it was for somethin. My story help others now. Kids like me don’t have to hide. They can be proud too.

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problems with being dyslexic

All my life people look at me and think I was dum. Cus I cant read or rite like them. Teachers say I never be anything. They dont see dyslexia, they just see lazy or slow.

But I knew I had words in me. I just cudn’t get them out the way they wanted. So I say them out loud. I perform them. I turn them into rhythm, into poems.

When Pen Rhythm came out, people still say, how can someone who cant spell be a poet? But poems not about spelling. It’s about feeling. About truth. About saying things others too scared to say.

I still see it now — people like me, pushed away, made to feel small. But let me tell you somethin — you not less. You not broken. You just different. And that different is your power. So go, show them. Prove yourself to this unfair world.

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My fist book

The picture up there is the cover of my first book, Pen Rhythm. Funny thing is, I didn’t write it down myself. I read the poems out loud, and my girlfriend wrote them for me. Some words got spelt wrong cus of my dyslexia. But I didn’t mind. Like “wid luv” — it was ment to be “with love,” but I think it made it feel more real. More me.

My poems come from what I grow up with — music, stories, plays, and all the things I see around me. Pen Rhythm was my way to talk about what I feel, what I see, and try to understand the world.

If you havin hard times, I just wanna say: you not broken. You not strange. You don’t need to change for other people. You are good enough just the way you are.

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My thoughts on prisons

Today I went to the prison, and it realy hit me. I saw people there just like me — smart, good people, no diferent really. But somethin went wrong for them, or maybe life just push them the wrong way. Now they sit behind cold iron bars, no future. Seeing them like that made me feel strange inside… like, that could be me if life went bad. I can’t stop thinkin about it.