BAS Poetry: Chance the Rapper on NPR’s Tiny Desk
Broke-Ass Stuart is now accepting poetry submissions to be featured in the BAS Poetry: Arts & Culture column. Written & curated by Corinne Avganim.
Photo credit: NPR.org
What do you do most Fridays? Me — I sit around the house with buddies, drink too much and watch music videos on YouTube. During last weekend’s session, NPR’s Tiny Desk Concerts series was looping (shoutout to the homie, Sherman for the VJing skills!) and eventually came to Chance the Rapper’s. It was pretty good. Then surprising.
In the middle of his set, he broke out some POETRY, which I later learned he wrote in the short time it took him to drive from his Washington, D.C. hotel to the NPR offices. Pretty cool.
THE OTHER SIDE
Chance the Rapper
Chicago, Illinois
I still have
All the keys
That are of no use to me
They used to, though
On the other side
Was a mansion on a hill
Complete with L.A. pools and fireplaces
And a rim made specifically for people that lie about being six feet to dunk on
Where piano was for decoration
And an old record player was actually for the hos
I was never awakened by the twisting of the door knob
Benzos kiss me goodnight
The bars finally stop working
They used to, though
On the other side was a presidential suite
Complete with living rooms and empty beds
And a rainfall shower head fixture
And the freedom to smoke big dope
And smoking fees also
And the possibility of making a beautiful girl I just met map out in her mind just how many times her apartment could fit in this room
If I could just get in, but the card stopped working
They used to, though
On the other side was a family complete with carpet stains and big gloves and “it’s your turns”
And toys all over the place
I almost fell and broke my fucking neck
And responsibility and refrigerator magnets
And days on the couch
And nights on the couch
And lines drawn in the sand and comebacks that cross the line
And a hornline from our favorite makeup song plays
And all of a sudden, just like that
We’ve rehabbed a phone
The barge stopped working
I still have all the keys that are of no use to me
They used to work, though
***
The End by Alex Solis, Threadless
Not too shabby if you ask me. Do you have a commuter poem? Something you jotted down in a flash because you just couldn’t possibly keep it all inside?? To submit a poem, email poetry@brokeassstuart.com with your 100% original piece of work, full name, age, city, links to social media, and (optional) biographical blurb.
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