The power behind the poet Tupac Shakur and poem inspired by him.
Inspired by Tupac Amaru Shakur (2Pac)
The first poet that ever inspired me.
Did you hear about the weeds that grew wherever they desired Proving that although unwanted they would persist Funny it seems but by returning after death they learned they'll always belong Long live the weeds that grew wherever when everyone wanted them gone!
I grew up listening in my mama’s car to “Dear Mama”, "Changes", “California Love”, “Keep Ya Head Up”, "So Many Tears", "To Live and Die in LA"and all the classics.
As I grew older, I found a passion for his lesser known songs like “Ghetto Gospel”, "Old School", and “Smile”.
I realized, he was poet, an activist, an artist, a storyteller…
He was dynamic and nuanced making poems to Vincent Van Gough and making collaborations with Elton John
while writing love poems to the ladies he loved, talking to God and walking around with a glock.
Before rapper, he was a poet writing about the experiences, world and culture he lived in as he knew it and saw it.
Upon moving to California, he wanted to go to a Performing Arts high school but he couldn’t find one and he couldn’t afford one aka ACCESS.
So he rose in the ways he could.
He was and still is, the rose that grew from concrete.
Tupac was one of my first teachers, teaching me no matter what I look like, where I come from my voice, thoughts, opinions matter.
Often times, I don’t even feel like a rose.
I feel more like the weeds, but then I remember…
But before a garden is cleared, the weeds own the space, wild and free,
belonging, giving the land it’s beauty and majesticness (yes, I made up that word).
And even with a perfectly manicured garden, with all the weed killer sprayed,
when the rain falls, with their roots deep below,
the weeds are invited back and emerge, unabashed and unashamed.
Saying, “Here I am”.
Just as the people, the hearts, the inner children are called simply because they belong…
Because they were born to be wild and free.
Parting words, don’t just look at the poets in your textbooks (often white males). Look around for the poetry that tells the hidden stories that are just as true and just.
And if you can’t find any that resonate, write your own.
There are no rules when you’re a weed.
Final thanks to my husband, Leo. Thank you for seeing me and the gift of this book.
And thank you Momma for always playing Tupac in the car, I'll always cherish those memories.
(This link is to purchase from Booshop.org with proceeds going to support indie bookshops and small affiliate fee to me).
Photos taken by and property of: Selisa Loeza