An ode to our search for good ideas

Good luck with final turn-ins everyone.

Richmond, VA 6:24pm
Poem by Kris Kennedy

Butt asleep against wooden bench seat
Two people, two tables down speaking French
sounds like politics, religion
maybe romance

Runnin' through my own mind
trying to catch a glimpse of something brilliant
but it's just florescent light
not sunlight
what a trickster

Stopped to breathe
watercolor and pencil doodles on the wall
but not for me
not for
what I need

I need brilliance
not French

What happened to get here.

I was sitting, cramming some work down my own throat and I took a step back to look at what I had done. I couldn't stop laughing about the fact that I had actually created this for a Harlem Soul Food company:

when "offensive" is a good thing and "world beating" just isn't enough

Today, I learned how to breathe again

Today, I remembered who I am. I know it sounds stupid. But writing from the heart isn't always that easy. And writing this wasn't that easy. Because facing your demons can be scary. But beauty comes from it. And so does alcoholism. Just another price to pay to in telling the truth. Something this industry doesn't do enough. Something we as a people don't hear enough of. Something that's taking me this long to say.

What are your thoughts?

Sometimes the Candy-Coating Tastes Better
- Poem by Kris Kennedy

There he is
Candy-coated Kris
With his candy-coated shell,
Such a sweet guy
Sweet like candy
Pay him no mind.
He’s just a treat
A sweet treat
Just a buck deep
He doesn’t mind.
He’s nice
So nice
Easy and free.
I can see him going far in life,
He’s just so charismatic.
He’s gonna be somebody.

Please pardon me, but fuck that.
Please don’t mistake my kindness for weakness.
Politeness as invitation to speak your mind
And not expect anything in return.
Don’t mistake my nonchalant-ness for some silly snot-nosed kid
Who doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about
Or takes things lightly
Or breathes in good air
And breathes out sprinkles.

Inside is reds, oranges and then some.
Flames, tears and then some.
Bruises, scars and then some.
One big middle finger
And then some
And then some.

Do you know what it’s like to go hungry for weeks
Living in a one room motel for years.
Me, mom, dad and baby brother.
Or having both sets of neighbors taste
Gunpowder-laced homicides
Or gun shots
Or tears
Or screams
And then some
And then some.

So, Please pardon me.
Pardon me
For the always being the new kid
And so on and so forth
The always having to change to fit in
And so on and so forth
For the smiling to make the pain go away
And so on and so forth
For the broken spirit and bones
And so on and so forth
The trampling, the fears, the being left to blame
And so on and so forth
The words left unsaid, the shame and handcuffs
And so on and so forth
The emptiness found in the words “I love you”
And so on and so forth
The lies and STDs
And so on and so forth
The being told with fists and bats that I’m nothing but a nigger
And so on and so forth

The drugs ripping family, from the seems
And so on and so forth
Having no place to call home
And so on and so forth
Staring at death’s face in the shape of a gun barrel
And so on and so forth
Asking why little brother has to die
And so on and so forth
All the times I cried to myself on bathroom floors
And so on and so forth
The me trying too hard and still failing every time
And still carrying everyone’s
Burdens on my back
Like a rock
And then some,
Do you know what’s it like?

So, Please Pardon me
For all that I am
And all you don’t know.
I smile
So you don’t have to see
what I have to.
Because no one deserves that.

Thanks Fat Daddy!