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Dedicate A Song/poem To The User Above You.


Batabatuta™

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Now that my afro's as big as Shaft's

I feel a little better about myself.

How it warms my bullet-head in Winter,

black halo, frizzy hat of hair.

 

Shaft knew what a crown his was,

an orb compared to the bush

on the woman sleeping next to him.

 

(There was always a woman

sleeping next to him. I keep thinking,

If I'd only talk to strangers. . .

grow a more perfect head of hair.)

 

His afro was a crown.

Bullet after barreling bullet,

fist-fights & car chases,

three movies & a brief TV series,

never one muffled strand,

never dampened by sweat--

I sweat in even the least heroic of situations.

 

I'm sure you won't believe this,

but if a policeman walks behind me, I tremble:

What would Shaft do? What would Shaft do?

Bits of my courage flake away like dandruff.

I'm sweating even as I tell you this,

I'm not cool,

 

I keep the real me tucked beneath a wig,

I'm a small American frog.

I grow beautiful as the theatre dims

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