Don't ask me why I'm sad
Don't ask me why I'm glad
Don't ask me why I'm mad
Don't ask me why I am
Exactly how I am
Because it's a Drew thing
And you just wouldn't understand.
I was blessed/cursed with A Beautiful Mind like Russell Crowe
Always trying to find ways to make my hustle grow
But y'all don't hear me, though
Because just because I push my poems
The first thing folks wanna know when they see me now
Is how many books I've sold.
Whatever happened to,
"Hey, Drew!"
"How you doin'?"
"How's your momma doin'?"
"Happy birthday!"
"What inspired you to write in the first place?"
But Drew promoting Drew has other poets hating Drew
But if I didn't push myself, you'd say I wasn't making moves...
I exist in this poetry scene full of hypocrites, cowards, and phonies
Who smile in your face then write about you on the low-key
But don't listen to me; I'm just "Drew-the-Self-Promotional-
Who-emails-everyone-on-the-east-coast-when-HE-has-a-show-
But-doesn't-want-anyone-else-to-blow."
Sometimes I think I preferred poetry more when it was less popular
At least then when you met another poet, you knew you had something
in common with them
Now it's all about crews and cliques
And which crew or clique you picked
And I might visit some
But I don't really fit in a single one.
And by now I'm used to not fitting in with any group
Because that's the story of my life
But it still gets a little lonely sometimes.
Just because I slam, poets who don't slam think I'm all about
performance
But poets who I've outslammed complain that I "slam too hard",
kid
And "street" poets think that I'm "too deep"
But the more "literary" poets think that I'm "too street".
But then, what is a "literary" poet
When the same poets who get on the mic quoting Langston Hughes and
W.E.B.
Won't buy your book because they say they're "waiting for your CD"??
Because see, it's "the listening age"
And folk are more interested in seeing you turn backflips on stage
Than in that which you say on the printed page.
That's why I have the nerve to write books that unleash all my secrets
It's like a game of "Truth or Dare" where I'm DARING you to read
about my demons
But even if you choose TRUTH, you STILL gotta see 'em!...
...but y'all ain't peepin'..
And just because I sell books, poets who haven't done a book or CD
yet look at me like I'm all about "business"
But just because I have a full-time job, poets who are living off of
this look at me like I'm "not committed"
Committed to WHAT?
Being BROKE, kid?
As if YOU jumped headfirst into this poetry biz without saving up
some dough, kid
You must be joking.
And speaking of jokers, the only things funnier than the on-stage
clowns
Are the clowns in the crowd
Because the same poets who have the luxury of judging R. Kelly for
his "perversions"
(As if THEY'RE some virgins)
Will turn around and have the nerve to spit an erotic sex piece
In front of a five-year-old nursery kid!
But wait, it gets worse, kid
Because the same females who go "ooooohhh" and drool over the
aforementioned "nasty lick-em stick-em" piece
Will be the main ones stomping, clapping, and amen-ing
When a sister does a "feminist" piece
About how "can't no nigga GIT wit' me!"
I find it interesting that poets are often called out about living up
to that which we say
Yet the audience is allowed the luxury of having fickle tastes
And yeah, I sell some books sometimes
And yeah, that's nice
But most people have no idea what I've sacrificed
I have family and friends who
Would love to hear from me
But I forsake spending time with them to
Do these poetry venues
So just because my cell phone gets "free evening minutes"
Doesn't mean that I get to.
Then I leave these venues and take the late train home
Usually not getting there until "apres minuit"
(That's French for "after midnight" in case you didn't get it.)
Now this is when the REAL fun begins:
I get to try to walk from the red line station for Brookland-CUA
To Drew's place
Without getting my head beat in by the neighborhood knuckleheads
And I LAUGH whenever I see that sign on my block that
says "neighborhood watch"
Because I know in my heart of hearts that it means just THAT:
When the drama goes down, all the neighborhood does is WATCH!
WATCH while jokers sling rocks!
WATCH while jokers get shot!
Then if I'm fortunate enough to make it ot 7th Street
I stay up writing poetry until 2 or 3
AS if I don't have to be at work by 8:30.
So while some might see me as self-absorbed
I see myself as self-sufficient
Because that's what I've learned to be
Because I've learned that no one else will learn for me
Earn for me
Hurt for me
Or burn for me
And as I look into your eyes
The blank stares that you return to me
Only serve to confirm me.
So don't ask me why I'm sad
And don't ask me why I'm glad
And don't ask me why I'm mad
And don't ask me why I slam
And don't ask me why I am
Exactly as I am
Because it's just a Drew thing
And
You
Would
Never
Understand...
© 2002, Drew Anderson, all rights reserved.