We Break Dawn

Grandma humming in the needle where the record moves,

clock hands tap wood; my heart learns better grooves.

I map the city veins, traffic as metronomes—

home where the breakbeat baptizes broken bones.

Raised on coupons, corners, and cornerstones,

sermons in a storefront, lessons on a borrowed phone.

Dreams in a shoebox; tongue tied to a tourniquet,

broke but fluent in hope—I learned to tourniquet

every wound with a word, every doubt with a diagram,

chalk math on the sky, multiply what I never had.

I stitched my fractures to fabric, raised a flag of scar,

flew it above the block like a lighthouse for the dark.

Cook hunger with numbers, season it with Psalms,

loop pain till it tastes like purpose in my palms.

Graffiti in my notebooks: futures in italics,

thunder in the margins, rain like a habit.

They said be realistic; I said real is elastic.

If truth’s a gym, I’m the bar doing backflips.

Not asking for access—I pick locks with cadence,

turn keys with breath, open vaults with statements.

Told the night I brought sunrise in my carry-on,

made an anthem from ashes I tarried on.

If ceilings drop, I grow a stair beyond—

Everybody up— we don’t break, we break dawn.

Industry tried to auction off my oxygen,

labels love a coffin when a poet’s boxed within.

But I’m stubborn as a mirror—make you look at you,

turn a verse to a verdict, let the hook be proof.

My cadence is a courthouse; every bar a barrister,

cross-exam the culture: who profits off character?

Algorithms sell trauma like a carnival,

clickbait halos, dopamine’s arsenal.

I tax the fake with a tariff of clarity,

audit my accounts, publish my charities.

A rebel with a ledger—balance sheet of the soul,

debits of old debts; credit where I grow.

Forgive what tried to drown me; never forget:

I surfed the undertow—came up wetter than debt.

Armor on the aura, discipline in DNA,

bench-press doubt till the fear gives way.

Kill the sample—leave the needle in the sky like a kite.

Let the drums march raw; let the syllables bite.

Iron in a pen—sparks kiss the oxide.

Rhyme like a locksmith trapped in a stop sign.

Who the greatest? I’m not racing; I’m raising the road,

plant miles like seeds till the pavement explodes.

Gold records? Cool. I’m minting character coins,

pay elders dividends, compound the joints.

If legacy’s a ladder, take splinters and climb;

let tomorrow cash checks we sign in this time.

For kids with a question mark stitched in a hoodie,

I ink exclamation, underline it in goodie.

My art is a kitchen—grab a plate, get fed.

Season the silence till the quiet turns red.

I won’t dim for a list, won’t beg for a crown—

I brought my own morning; watch me lay it down.

Told the night I brought sunrise in my carry-on,

made an anthem from ashes I tarried on.

If ceilings drop, I grow a stair beyond—

Everybody up— we don’t break, we break dawn.