Jasmine P

Keep Ya Head Up

“Ole child, things are gonna get easier, ole child, things’ll get brighter.”

The chorus from an ode to the ghettos,

The poor, the hopeless mothers,

The black children, the dead beat fathers

An ode of optimism to the depressed, oppressed

“We ain’t meant to survive cause it’s a set up”

Ode to the oppressors

An ode to the good, the bad, the ugly

Crack babies and the addicts

You and me, 23 years later



Home of the bastard children, single mothers, delinquent uncles, friendly aunts.

Home of the 25 cent ICEE cups dyed blue from kool-aid packets.

Home to stop and frisks up against the corner store walls and jitney stations.

Release the den games that lasted all day and that boy you kissed at the park and those racoons that chased you all the way home.

You can’t beat the street lights to save your life and your mom is mad when you get in because nobody told you to take the whole box of popsicles down the street.


Broken people are destined for broken hearts

but your broken heart was gold and I was mining and I stepped on your trap and was blown to pieces

Now my broken heart is destined for attraction from the people,

drawn like honey bees to the golden honey trees with the queen singing buzzy things that make the world stop

and we ponder these things because we’re destined for misunderstanding, we’re destined to assumptions that never lead to where our minds wander, far out beyond those waters

Far out beyond these dreams that never are achieved because we get distracted by the silly things because we’re silly people and we’re gullible

Destined for disappointment that we see coming from miles away but we don’t stray away we only want to stand closer because our failure keeps our eyes open

Who are we talking about here, you or me? I loved you.