Destructive Criticism: My Verse

When I rhyme on a track I call it zakat-
Giving is receiving, I’m bringing it back-
I show patience for critics ready to attack-
But I’m from Brooklyn, try not to get smacked with the miswak-
My form of poetry is found beneath the pavement-
Enslaved in basements, my heart’s radio station-
In the masjid praying in formation, where nothing can break this level of concentration-
I went from engagement with a girl who memorized biggie and tupac-
To a sister who memorizes quranic surahs-
Who recognizes there’s only one guarantee for the future-
so avoid being a wrong doer but please dont make me school ya-
The devils of deceit, where the lines of ignorance and desire meet-
Being a Shepard amongst lost sheep-
the ink in the pen depletes when I discover blank sheets-
I write scripts, I write on foggy glass with my finger tips-
I write on the dirt with broken sticks, I write with chalk on walls of solid bricks-
I write like my mind is a loaded clip, I write out loud so the world can hear it-
I write on electronic devices, I write so much I call myself Writeous-
And please I don’t ask for a fee cause I was born a proletariat not a bourgeoisie-
I didn’t choose Islam, Islam chose me-
so I’d rather fall on my knees than suffer from greed-
Most these cowards are weak, trying to find the fix they need-
I’m the final seed of a dying breed-
please Just let me breathe-
I’m at peace, I feel at home when I stand toe to toe with a microphone-
When my words travel through worlds unknown-
My rhyme book is my throne and the booth is the battle zone-
So I’ve outgrown your nasty tones, cause when it comes to poetry I’m in a league of my own-