If your soul doesn’t work, keel yourself…
Birth a new you with a healer’s help.
The blackboard chalk-outlined my path.
Taut me about that grind.
Teeth out skinning. The game should be about
winning. Raised hands and late-night library trips
is my primary bliss…define every little shit
you come by. Do not by any means define yourself but
the Universe is fair game. For this, we have books.
Five critical questions at chapter’s end. Fill up your
homework with the answers. Check to check-minus
is the scale. Plus two for staying in the margins.
Exiled from classrooms for arguing. Darn.
A boy should be farming, not building monuments
to farmers. Not worshiping makers of history but making it.
Stay-at-home tests are what life is made of. Take that! dickhead B-plus
giver.
Boy, you a silly nigger. All the other niggers’ teeth glimmer.
Yours be in your mouth in an
innocent pout. The C’s full of Sharks who’ll eat you for dinner.
You’re a weak swimmer. Let me teach you.
Teach who? Keep that filth in your raas-hole.
That’s where it belongs. Songs teach me, not cons.
All the pretty girls go to school. But all the whorish ones
know the rules. They will sing me around town and travel me places.
Pardon while I strap up me laces.
Heard On My Stoop 
Word.
“Go ask my pre-school, even talk to my old principal
He’d tell you how you I used to pack a No. 2 pencil
Stabbin students, grabbin teachers, Catholics, preachers
In the school staircase, cuttin class, passin my reefer
In my own class, operation return, they tried to say
I was incompetent, not able to learn
The table turned now, got my own label to earn
Like that nigga said in _Dead Presidents_, money I burn”