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Johnnie Jones

South Orange, NJ, United States

Poetry

Copyright © 2002 Johnnie Jones Tucker

BROTHA’

So you think that high is so good that it knows you so well
So good that when it’s too much your mind will say ‘that’s enough’ and you’ll come down?
No. That’s not how it works
Now they’re beatin’ on your chest trying to bring you around

I know you tried, tried to stop, tried to go it alone, but you should’ve asked me
I would have told you that, not without the Lord, “For we can do nothing on our own”

It had you deep, had you strong. The only thing you could do, was do more
(I) see you looking in the mirror hating what you see, hating yourself because you wanted it, had to have it,
yet…so at ease, once you got it

So the rest of you think the money is greener, the car is cleaner, the house is bigga’
people won’t call you nigga, just cause you got some money?
Money that came from the sista’ selling, selling her…
From the brotha’ workin’ and borrowin’
From the mother… giving up the kid
From the father… Did you see what he did?

Yeah, money that came from the folk
Folk strung out on ya’scag, ya’crack, ya’ coke, ya’ smoke, ya’ pills
ya’ thrills, ya’ blow, ya’snow

Why you killin’ all the brothas’?
Why you snatchin’ all these mothas’?
The sistas’ just need some love, IT AIN’T COMIN’ FROM NO PIPE.
It can only come from above. “Our Father which art in heaven”

So you think you can drive a little fasta’ with the money you make
Fact is, humph, you ain’t goin’ nowhere
Shame
Someone used to call you… “Son”

Now the brotha’s dead
Don’t know if he knew that Jesus died in his stead
How could he?
He’s stretched out on his bed

Brotha’

The call for poems portion of NJTV's Addiction Crisis initiative is made possible by a grant from the Geraldine R. Dodge Foundation.

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