(My Dedication to Kendrick Lamar’s “Untitled.” Track and To How It Reminded Me That I’m On the Right Track to Finding Fulfillment)
-“Untitled,” you dubbed it.
-Revival to crude publics—
your melody undoubtedly
knocks melancholy out of me
and stands evidencing that you wear America’s emotional climate—
it dangling ‘round your neck and right next to your heart.
-You’re that soul food in a world overloaded and bloated by way of preservatives, plastic trays, pretty poison, candy-crushed, sticky sweet, syrupy, vessel-busting, processed and mechanically separated
garbage, with fake color or none and no aftertaste.
-But, even you, Mr. Lamar,
with your high place of perspective, can fail to see certain views
of just how far your talent launches profound data
and how it lets it cruise,
at absurd altitudes,
to rain down empowerment and hope.
-The morphing, from “weary” to “fiery”
can occur in any gym, bedroom, or car.
-It’s a good problem to not know how many you saved from the mope.
-For, your influence is so vast, the multitude of lives
is and should be impossible to number.
-For, when it comes to your acts like your Bloomberg Report’s, I’ve lost count
of the times it carried me through monotonous meetings, trialing traffic jams, hater heckling and peer persecution.
-For, the memory of that locomotive tempo,
that soulful serenating sista, of effervescent and angelic harmony, backing the liberating mojo,
the discipline, determination, and dedication exhibited throw your lava flow,
and the asteroid inertia, when you start to go,
resonates a resolve I feel in my bones.
-This kind of resolve declares daily, “Never call your dreams silly.
-Don’t let them expire.
-Retire all doubts,
that your peers, your boss, your community, and the devil screams and shouts—
the doubt, that what lies within isn’t worthy to share.
-Not spewing the fire in your belly is a disservice to the world.”
-The “Untitled” is fitting.
-Some songs are too great for names.