The Being Black Project.

Dunno how I forgot to post this piece, but I decided to considering it was laying idle in my drafts section. Besides, its been a while since I posted anything ūüôā . I’ll be returning soon though, count on it…In the meantime…enjoy.



What does it mean

To carry my particular pigment?

Unaccomplished?  inferiority?

Rip your outdated memo and listen closely,

Because it means power, my friend

What else confirms our superiority

Other than the relentless effort

By supremacists to hide such knowledge.


My role is not to convince you

That what I say is true,

But hear this,

What you see on me as melanin,

You’d best reaffirm

As unintelligible dark matter

Coursing through my veins

At unsettling speeds

Settling well under my skin.


It would be convenient wouldn’t it,

To have a “Black history” month?

How kind of you,

To reduce our vast history

To a month,

As if it all fits …

Why is there no “white history” month?

If not to raise peoples’ consciousness

To the idea that we’re different.


Well then, if being different means

I don’t end up as manipulative

Or power hungry as you

Then I, in kind

Whole-heartedly accept.


‚Äď Original-Dante¬†¬©2016


Art by: JoelKelly

Questions #2


Questions #1




Because its different

Does it necessarily make it wrong?

Or is that kind of thinking

A reflection of the rational mind

Trying to justify

What the conscience believes

To be inherently wrong?


But is it really?

Or is questioning the aforementioned

A result of human nature’s shackles

Passively gearing everyone

Towards conformity?


‚Äď Original-Dante¬†¬©2016


Art by:  Ninjatic

Instrument For The Star Seed.

beauty_by_searchmyheart-d6ia0so (2).jpg


Have you ever loved something so much, or experienced something so perfect, that you’ve felt it was designed just for you?

I guess for me its writing, but that’s no secret, so I chose the source, my pen. Here’s a poem that expresses my love for the pen and ink.


Motions with the pen 

Illustrating at mach 10,

Designing portals to my world,

The pen was, and has always been 

This Star Seed’s instrument,

To make visible, the transition,

Of intergalactic thoughts

All the way to intelligible form.


With this, I have the ability

To break-down how it feels

To moonwalk on ether,

As ideas orbit around me

In abundance, like star-dust

I reap them with a sickle

Better termed my crescent moon.


This instrument, is indeed

A conduit for my thoughts

Flowing at warp speeds,

Straight out of deep space,

On occasion, moving faster 

Than I can make strokes

With the ink.


With this,

I’m a stranger to seeking approval,

With this, I’m always aware

Of my inherent perfection

At ease, as I open black holes

With the suction force necessary

To cleanse my thought palate 

Of the negativity projected

By the insecure branches

Of humanity.


‚Äď Original-Dante¬†¬©2016


Art by:  SearchMyHeart




The second my feet tasted earth

I knew I was different,

As peoples’ eyes mirrored

My light bulb high in the sky

Difficult to miss, as it is

That which you call the sun.


I am not a puzzle

That many “claim” to be

No, For I am that

Which stores the puzzle.


Been clear since day one

That I’m not here

To kiss up to those in power,

But to make them aware

They are specks to who I serve,

I’m not here to endorse war

But to enlighten the walking dead

On humanity’s wrongs,

Those who move, but don’t live

Those who have eyes, but don’t see.


I’m not here to impress

But to tell the truth,

And with that out of the way,

Etch it in stone

That I won’t let petty squabbles

Be what jeopardizes a movement

That is, in the simplest form,

Beyond your understanding.


‚Äď Original-Dante¬†¬©2016


Photograph by:  MarcoHeisler


Ethereal Ink.


Watch me when I write,

Glimmer in my eyes,

Purposeful attempts to excavate

The golden thread of knowledge

Embedded within the carvings

Of my mind’s given design;

I create knots and loops

With the cursive ink

Knitting pages together

With a pattern

Of my choosing.


‚Äď Original-Dante¬†¬©2016


Photograph by:  MikkoLagerstedt


Daily Prompt: Eyes

The Platform (Part 3)

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The Platform (part 1)

The Platform (part 2)

What was the point of it all,

If following her dreams

Meant losing those she loved?


Her knight had made her choose,

An ultimatum fueled by insecurity;

Choosing between her music, and him,

It didn’t make any sense

… Didn’t he get it?

All this…

Everything she had worked for,

It wasn’t just for her,

It was for them.


Didn’t they all get it?

It was because of all their efforts

That she was here,

It was their support

That gave her the drive

Now that she had made it,

All of it was going away.


Did this mean

That all of them initially thought

She had no chance of getting this far?

All of a sudden, all she had were her fans

Showing her more attention

Than those she craved it from.


Was it her fault

That staying in peak form

Came at the cost

Of not talking to her loved ones

More often?


If all he saw through her success

Was their divide, then maybe…

Just maybe… she had to let him go,

If he knew her well

He wouldn’t have had to make her choose

Between being herself,

And being him.


‚Äď Original-Dante¬†¬©2016


Art by: tomatomatomato



*******A Poem For My Birthday*******


A product of the 90s

Long before the two-thousannaires,

Black Star origins with an Alabama twist

Born and bred with one focus in mind,

Bringing change that starts with me

And seeps from my vessel touching passer-bys.


Gentle at heart

But aggressive towards injustice,

The light-bearer, no matter how dim,

The harsh truth giver,

The all-in lover,

The family oriented being

Who does not, and will not

At any point

Wait for another flawed human being

To tell him how special he is,

Societal expectations would dictate that I wait

… as if impaired by cognitive dissonance,

Or an otherwise malfunctioning mouthpiece.


Endorsement from a higher existence

Entails that this, is a phase

And through this phase of unpredictable change

I took the role of a champion,

Not chosen by the people

But one who has taken the mantle

Of being the missing puzzle piece

In the war against darkness;

Not for the non-existent benefits

But for the hardships therein.


In a world where those in power

Control through suppression and fear

I speak for those who are afraid,

I speak for those who have given up

This role I chose

Far transcends the confines

Of earthly doctrines and human condition,

With this role, I chose

To be an ambassador

For the heavens.


‚Äď Original-Dante¬†¬©2016



Poets For Peace.

My contribution to a collaborative poem for the #PoetsForPeace collaboration

You can add your contributions here


Who better to bear the baton

Than us, the peace-makers,

Champions of the ink-slinging

And masters of penmanship.


Who better,

To make the world aware of its decline

Than us, rather me

An individual who’s always

Deep in internal conflict

Seeking endless betterment of the self.


Is it wrong of me

To say i’m sick of the pointless killings?

So they can’t prove their point

Through verbal means;

Does that equate a gun

As the best alternative?


Weakness doesn’t begin to describe

The flaw in that rationale;

As an advocate for light i’m ashamed

To call myself human.


Surely, you realize

Our enemy lies elsewhere

Yet all we do

Is kill each other before

We face the real threat that lies

In the darkest recesses of the abyss.


I’m not arrogant,

But i’m not entirely humble either;

To topple the enemy that

Threatens the very existence

Of the human race turning a blind eye

Is leagues away from the solution .


I refuse to wait before the weak-willed

Who deem themselves powerful

Push to establish their power motives

At the expense of human lives

While I wait for a change of heart.


No, to hell with that,

I  will channel all I have ,

Ink and all, to the center

Of their consciousness through

A plethora of penned lines

Exorcising the demons that reign

Over their hearts.


‚Äď Original-Dante¬†¬©2016









Black Star.


Intimidated by the idea of intelligence

Radiating from a supposedly inferior race;

Light bulbs fried by a speck of the Black star,

A contradiction in the face of stereotypes,

So what do they do, except project their fears

Directly on you?


Regurgitating rationalizations

That help them make sense of what they see;

Yes, surprise, surprise!

We have minds too.


I’ll be damned if I let you think

Even for a second,

That you can get away with

Imposing the idea that you’re better.

Look at me all you want;

More stares for me to quarantine

In the back yard of my mind palace,

Where the black hole

Of infinite disposals resides.


I know who I am and where I stand;

In a space where fumbling for missing pieces

Has been established as the norm

I bypassed the self-knowledge phase,

Through writing;

Better termed, my self-hack.


‚Äď Original-Dante¬†¬©2016


Photograph by: alvarola




Autonomy from peer pressure,

Leagues away from suppression

Or humility fueled by insecurity

And external forces.

An island OD‘d on controlitis anti-bodies;

Ironclad jurisdiction;

What enters my mind is what I allow

Not what you believe I need.

My consciousness unwillingly

Reached a new level with a few

Unspoken mistakes;

Through the loss of what I naively believed

To be my most valued possession,

My world got reformed.

Through a mistake, a spark was lit

As fifty thousand watts of light beams

Showed themselves from

The deepest chasms of darkness

That resided at the center

Of my soul.

A new level of awareness

Hard to describe, which is why

I find myself having to paint a picture

With the alphabet in tow.

What makes me stronger

Is not the belief that i’m better than you

No, far from it,

You’re far from the equation.

What gives me power is knowing

I control my own reality,

That my opinion of the world

Is something no-one can take from me

That no-one can convince me if I can

Or can’t do something

Unless I allow them to.

‚Äď Original-Dante¬†¬©2016

Photograph by: Bateri