Crimes

That is what I call them now and forever.
There is no other way to see it.
There is no other way to say it.
Crimes were discretely splurged all over my body.
The emotional pain they selfishly handed to me.
The mental distress like hot coals upon my chest.
The physical anguish and torture.
They stole what they wanted leaving me with my pants below my knees.
The spiritual distortion they taught me,
Not only on Sundays but seven days a week.
Crimes offenses punishable by law.
Illegal acts.
Violations.
Crimes that’s what I call them now and forever.
It gives me perspective on their monstrous deeds.

Daddy’s Rifle and Gun
(  If you'd heard me in concert you've heard me recite this one.)

At school I was called faggot.
I was called nigger.
I was called homo.
I was sexually abused,
In the boys' restroom at school.
He caused damage and harm
I never thought about taking Daddy’s rifle and gun.
At school I was called gay.
I was the last chosen for any games play.
I was withdrawn.
I was hated on,
Left along, felt along.
I was the only one
I never thought about taking Daddy’s rifle and gun.
At school I suffered a lot.
I was the target for a teacher’s verbal and emotional abuse.
I was hit, kicked and slapped.
I was focused to see my molesters at school and at church.
He had all the adults fooled.
There was nowhere for me to run
I never thought about taking Daddy’s rifle and gun.
At school I had a vision.
At school I knew there was a reason for living and breathing.
At school I kept my song.
At school I never came with Daddy’s rifle and gun.

Matthew Shepherd

Taken out in the middle of nowhere.
Left to die shackled to a wire fence.
As they turned their deaf ears,
He pleaded for his life.
Senseless-useless,
Or do you think so?
Should one be murdered because of their
Ethnicity,
Gender,
Heterosexuality,
Homosexuality,
Wealth,
Or lack of.
I say emphatically no!
Or do u think so?
If one deserves to die.
We all deserve to same fate.
Some rejoiced when they heard.
Others carried signs that said, Fags burn in hell
Some lite candles.
Others cried buckets of tears.
And I what did I do?
I wrote this for you Matthew,
To remind me to remind others.
No matter of our differences and diversities,
Every living creature has God’s permission to live and let live.

 
 Fifth Grade

Little ole bitty me went out for little league football in fifth grade
Well at least I made the team
I set on the branch the whole year.
At least I made the team.
I couldn’t grasp the concept of the game
Subconsciously I am sure I was there trying to connect with maleness.
As I waited for football practice to begin everyday,
Without fail an older boy who took piano lessons would hold my mouth shut so I couldn’t scream. You know what happened next. What I will tell you that it was brutal, and mean spirited.
Annette Jackson was my girlfriend; she was albino. What I remember most about her is that light blue dress with the pleats she wore. She had long blond nappy hair. I used to nudge my desk right next to hers so we could be closer in class.
Ms. Booker was my teacher. She was just two years out of college. She didn’t seem to like me much, I didn’t know why. One day she told the class she was changing my name from Isaac to Isaac Mae. The class laughed and laughed. It was mostly the guys that laughed the loudest. The sting I felt setting beside Annette was the sting of a pain that penetrated so deep that I still feel the remnants of it.
My new name only lasted a day. When I got home that evening I told mama what Ms. Booker had said? Mama didn’t say a word she just picked up a pen and some paper, than she began writing. After she had finished she told me to give it to Ms. Booker the next day.
So as soon as I got in class I handed Ms. Booker the letter mama had written to her... I watched her as she began reading Mama’s letter. My eyes stayed steady on her. I could tell whatever Mama had written in that letter was making Ms. Booker very uncomfortable. I set there with my eyes frozen; my stomach began to tie in knots. I kept feeling like this was my entire fault.
After Ms. Booker finished the letter she looked like she was gonna cry. I was thinking, “Man you messed up this time”. . .Later that day one of the boys in the back of the class called me Isaac Mae. Ms Booker spoke up and said, "We’re changing his name back to Isaac."
So what were my lessons I learned in fifth grade? I learned that I was not gifted in sports and as boy growing up to be a man my life would be very hard.
I learned that I had to keep my pain buried deep down inside because the perpetrator physically held my mouth shut. Image being a 9 year old and keeping the pain of this kind of abuse inside. Go there with me now. Image being a child and someone holding your mouth shut as they had their way with you physically, sexually, emotionally and mentally.
In fifth grade I learned that when parents send their children to school, this doesn’t guarantee that they will be in a safe-nurturing environment for proper learning.
In fifth grade I learned that even those in authority wouldn’t protect you.
In fifth I graduated from school lessons to life lessons.
In fifth grade I may have been 9 years of age but I was already a well-aged man.

 PFC Barry Winchell

A baseball bat met his head.

He never had a chance.

Until his breath left eternally.

In the United States Army.

Where are the united soldiers?

Don't ask.

Don't tell.

You and I served in the United States Army.

You in Kentucky.

I in Germany.

In your death we met.

I was beaten too in the barracks.

Through my life was spared.

Like you, not one soldier stood in my defense.

I was left feeling as if  I was the guilty one.

My life is not my own.

I choose to lay it down.

For the out cast and ostracized.

This is my portion.

This is my devotion.

Angles

(From the NEW CD, Purpose:  After childhood sexual abuse volume 2.)  Dedicated to my high school hommies James Harold Gilliam and Dr. Jeffery Craft.

Let me tell you about my two best bros in school
They were James Harold Gilliam and Jeffery craft (everyone called him Jeff)
James Harold had the nick name, pluk….I didn’t called him that. To me he was James Harold.

I never heard them bad mouth, ostracize, or hate on me.
They were never ashamed to be seen in my present.
In school they were my constants

James Harold and I became friends in the 6th grade.
We shared more than our African heritage.
He stuck to me like super glue.
We were neighbors.   Our parents shared a business together.
I never told him I had a crush on his sister Monica.
It was nothing for him being at my house just to hang.
James Harold affirmed my maleness.
An angle made him do it.

Jeff and I met when I was a Jr and he a sophomore in high school.
He played football just like James Harold.  Jeff also played basketball.
I was the high schools team water boy.  Things just seen to clicked for Jeff and I.
I remember doing water breaks on those hot August days of practice; he would put his arm around my neck in a manly fashion.  Like two pals do who care about one another?

Jeff was my only high school friend I shared my struggle with.  He only spoke words of compassion.  . Doing summer month and through my first year in college Jeff and I would send letters to each other though the mail.  We were committed to our bond of friendship. .  Jeff affirmed my maleness.
An angle made him do it.

James Harold Gilliam and Jeffery craft were real bros.
They help fill my empty soul.
An angel made them do it.