maybe…this is the poem that shouldn’t even be written
maybe it’s not even a poem and…
maybe I’m not even a poet
maybe poetry ain’t real
maybe this is therapy between pen and and pad, mic and speakers, my words and your ears,
maybe it’s all I can say and all you will feel
but you won’t cuz I can’t
some things said seem like a rant
maybe I’m like everybody else
or maybe I try to be cuz I’m afraid of my greatness, so I hide in my potential
maybe it’s safer to stick to typical content
so I say typical sexual stuff
baby I can eat you til my tongue steals a piece of your soul and I will only give it back when you kiss me goodbye…
or give you something racial:
like if I can I would take ten bullets if it could erase 9 black victims of racial police brutality like mike brown
no point in crossing prejudice lines if reparations from reconstruction will be the greatest lie told next to get on the boat
          we just wanna take you for a short ride…
no that’s too deep and I’m too shallow to swim in waters cuz my skin complexion no matter my good intent is
          challenged, but we throwing ice buckets of water
on each other for the fuck of it, but won’t pay attention to heart disease, diabetes, or hypertension
shyt aids is still winning
but it’s not always the message, sometimes it’s the messenger
more angry than disappointed and all of it fuels my temper bruh
when I give who’s willing to recieve???
truth or truth…
I speak cuz it hurts
I given and not received
and the short end of the stick
has always been my family
they’re suffering cuz I’m damaged see
superMatt no longer exists
cuz I can’t be in two places at one time
catching planes like people catch buses
trying to come and go on a high note
maybe text messages and FaceTime make up for lost time and missed moments see…
I know the mark of what I do will set the example for what every lil dude is allowed to in the lives of my daughters
my son has me picked as his superhero
stronger than superman, batman, and all the power rangers put together
if only they all knew their
superdad is a broken man
and so I fix other peoples problems cuz I have no clue how to solve my own
they need me but I haven’t figured out how to be me
the challenges of this world when you can’t be free
I don’t want it all just a day or two
but it ain’t possible,
sometimes I’m my own worst obstacle…
maybe this ain’t a poem,
and maybe I’m not even a poet

maybe I just have something to say…

maybe this was my therapy



Matthew Parker is a youth worker born and raised in the historic South End of Boston, MA. From an early age Matt has always been proactive in his community through youth organizing and community service projects. From these experiences Matt found an interest in the arts for his creative expression, especially writing and poetry. Graduating from a youth leader to an adult who supports young people, he still works in the forefront of the youth development field even training students to be the next youth workers at different colleges and universities including Harvard’s Phillips Brooks House Association. Matt has shared his passion of poetry with the youth in the neighborhoods of Boston that he serves tirelessly. For his labors he has several achievements including being named 2009’s “Youthie” Youth Worker Award for Intervention by Health Resources In Action, 2010 Youth Justice Award from Mass. Coalition for Occupational Safety and Health, and In 2010, releasing his first published book, “of life & love- A Journey”. Matt is a family man still raising his children and community.

Rachel Copans is a Burgeoning poet and spoken word artist. The photo above was taken outside the Prudential Center earlier today during the Blackout Black Friday protest under the #notonedime hash tag.