Love in Yellow

Cover me in Love, Love
Show me your true color
Don’t leave me with bruises
Just so I can make excuses

Cover me well Love, Love
Make me feel like I should feel
Don’t treat me like some ordinary fellow
Paint me in yellow

Cover me happy Love, Love
And kiss me all night long
Don’t mind my bleeding heart
While you try it all apart

I want to wrap myself around you
Holding on and back so tight
Try to have mercy on me
‘ Cause I’m too bright for the light

Cover me Love, Love
Sing to my front and my back
And if I try and get away Love, Love
Just pick up the slack

Cover me in Yellow Love, Love
Red comes on too strong
Cover me in Yellow, Love
A vase of yellow roses so long

Does culture really play a part in “Black Homophobia”…especially in the NFL?

The San Francisco 49ers' Super Bowl XXIX troph...
The San Francisco 49ers’ Super Bowl XXIX trophy on display at the 49ers’ Family Day at Candlestick Park. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)




What becomes a Man most?  The way one thinks, acts, and believes can mostly be found in his upbringing.




For a Black male, history has shown that appearing as tough and as rugged as possible displays the ultimate masculinity.  From any and all ‘heterosexual’ conquests, deems a man a real man.  This could be the greatest reason for the “Down Low” effect.  What aids in this shameful disparity in treatment of other men is the Black man’s athletic prowess, his mediaphonic muscle stature, and lastly his stereotypical sexual endowment.  In male professional sports, men display their manhood freely, yet willingly, in the showers and locker rooms.  When a man says, “I don’t look at other men,” welcome the most destructive lie. 




Take into account the profane 15 minutes of fame ploy by San Francisco 49ers “Cornerback” Chris Culliver.  For someone like himself to verbally attack gays by saying, “Gays are not welcome in the NFL,” is really a slap in the face for any man or woman who wants to participate in professional sports.  It is not known whether Chris Culliver is a so-called womanizer.  Many who are just trying to compensate their own demons by convincing themselves of their own lies.  But just what right does this lone soldier have to deny anyone who can clean his cornerback clock on the field solace.  Maybe, if he was a “Tight End,” he wouldn’t be so quick to voice his judgment.   Speaking-out the way Culliver has only makes it more and more clear that this troubled young man has some closet-cleaning to do.  More women find entrusting friendships with men who are comfortable with their sexual nature than they do with the exorbitant testosteroned (or horned up) men in any aspect.  The woman who has chosen to deny themselves time spent with a gay male only do so do to peer pressure from their spirit-challenged male partners. 




But testosterone is testosterone.  While reports show that low-T or low testosterone causes erectile dysfunction, mood swings and other physical or mental ailments, a man is still a man.  Could it be that the gay man’s physical male endowment is the reason “straight” men become enraged?  Maybe Chris Culliver is afraid that he may accidentally brush up against an out gay man in the shower or even while bending over to lace up his shoes, however way that can happen, and get aroused only to shrivel up in the act.  This kind of attention demands detention.  In so many families all over the world, gay members exist.  So often, family members will express their love outwardly, but under their own roof, only to scream that it is an abomination to the public.  What a contrast!  What a lie!  How un-Christ-like!  With such disparity in treatment, one must surrender any and all claims to being Christian.  Then again, Tim Tebow has been chastised for his love of Christ on the field.  Who will have the last laugh?  If Chris Culliver has his way, even those NFL players with cancer will have to either keep their illness to themselves or die on the field without revealing their illness to even their coach.  Suffice is to say, gay is not a disease…homophobia is!  And to be so adamantly against something or someone who affects you personally in no way, shape, or form, is a disease.  Alas, Chris Culliver must have the most satisfying stimulating dreams of any man…especially a God-fearing Black man who is schooled by his Black clergy of what makes a man.  How about we equate Chlamydia, syphilis, or gonorrhea to mental illness?  They are all curable, with treatment.  However, if the illness goes untreated, like the out-pouring of Culliver’s heartfelt emotion against a male who is not infatuated by the same things he is, long-term effects can be disastrous.  Yet, some men also feel that a man isn’t a man until he has contracted a heterosexual sexually transmitted disease.  Not to say that Culliver has contracted such, but if it is discovered later that he has in fact shared his manly desires with someone against their will, does that not make him a bain on worldly existence?  While it should be a consenting ‘choice’ to block one’s seed from spewing into another, there are times when the need to be feel real and free is forced upon another.  Culliver obviously must be in agreement with one being on “The Down Low.”  His demeaning and unencouragaeble words to other NFL players send the message that as long as he doesn’t know one’s status for sure, it won’t hurt him.  Or will it?  Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell plays no part in Chris Culliver’s world.  Only the Don’t Tell part does.  For the love of the game, keep it real by denying who you are.  Many athletes live and breathe their sport.  It would serve Culliver right to be pitted against an All-Gay football team just to test strength and endurance.  Then again, that action would have to be approved by the NFL and the team coaches.  Tolerance should be mandatory.  Give respect where respect is given.  No matter how ignorant your upbringing.  And for the Black male, he should not feel in any position to discriminate against another human being.  In a way, Culliver’s verbal attack on potential gay players in the NFL is his own way of flamboyancy.  Drawing such vile attention to yourself could be Culliver’s belief that it will pump not only his own ego to help his team win the Super Bowl, but garner support by then even openly gay fans of the sport to question themselves.  Such ignorance could be bliss.




In Culliver’s world, all men are NOT created equal and definitely not equally.  To say to somebody, “Wait until you leave the sport to divulge your sexual appetite,” is comparable to telling someone to lie to save your own life.  Would it be nice to wish for someone to level such a player as Culliver on the playing field and them have them say, “Sorry, I hit you so hard, dude.  I never would have done that if I was straight?”  Or would, “Stop whining like the size of your dick” make more of an impact on someone with Chris Culliver’s disdain for humanity?  Either way, Chris Culliver is the master of his own universe:  The 15 Minutes of Fame Monster Universe.  There’s no doubt there are some big jocks occupying Culliver’s locker room with him.  In lieu of him staring them in the face, everyday, maybe somebody should actually throw one in his face. 


Flowers in his hair

As the song plays

We remember the days

We didn’t have a care

Like the flowers in his hair


We always knew what time it was

Even when we didn’t

But boy, what a buzz we had

Before we knew what it really meant


Dickie was our friend

You could say he had a special flair

All the neighborhood kin

Knew him as the boy with flowers in his hair


Where one went

So did the other

Even when our rent was spent

Richie looked out for a brother


He never had a care in the world

And kept a smile on his face

How could he give so many necklaces of pearls

When he never even left his place


But Dickie was our friend

Long before they called for Dick

The strongest man’s wrist would bend

In our presence as a trick


Dickie had our backs

And my how the people would stare

His painted on jeans or dark, baggy slacks

Made them forget the flowers in his hair


And the song plays on…



He’s Got The Case Of The Itch

Oh so sexual

But metro-sexual

He can leap big bounds

Even on hallowed grounds


Change it

Then drop a dime

Haters think

It’s all sublime



He’s got the case of the itch

Looking finer than a bitch



Watch him flip the switch


In case you didn’t hear

He’s not like King Lear

He won’t give it all away

He needs something to sway


If there’s a daughter

In the water

He could have taken a drink

With so much ass

In his class

It’s got to make one think


Cause he can drop it

And pop it

And nobody can stop it

He can keep his hand in his hair

While his feet are in the air



But who can blame him

When they all want to shame him

As pretty as a photo

Don’t see him just as some-hoe



What if I was somebody else?


If my name was Nas

would you fear me?

If they called me King

 would you cheer me?

How you think You would feel

if you couldn’t be real?

So what if you had

all the skills

that make you wanna take pills

that kills

the ills and the wills that a jail cell


And you wish you could fly

So high up in the sky

That even you wonder why

the birds can lie

To their prey

Before they die on a day

A breeze will sway

The trees will pray

Calling out your name

Feeling your pain and shame

and the game

you run

Keeps you on the run

Longing for someone

who’ll give you 10 minutes of fun

before you run again

And then

Snatched up by the eagle

For not being legal

It’s all dope

when you try and cope

Can you understand my scope?

‘Cause I want to elope

Just call me Raz

and lyrically pump Jazz

Also Known As


All the fuss

And ruckus

It’s a must

For you to lust

After me and you can be

A part of thee

That is me

That is me

Your reality

Call me something else

If you can take me down

from the shelf

You can call me God

when I’m on top of

or in your bod

Give me a nod

and pass out from my steel


piercing through your bod

And I shake your bod

And I shake my bod

After I lose my rod

In your bod

And I am God

To you then

And I am again

When you want it again

But do you want me

Or that piece of me

That makes you come to me

and on me

Losing all train of thought

About the gifts you bought


In exchange for my range

to make you deranged

When you say my name

the same way

you do

when you hear your favorite song

you waited so long

to hear before

you walked out the door

And became a whore

Breaking your back

for just a snack

But your pocketbook

got jacked

Cause you bring nothing back


You made the Man a mint

for your eight hour stint

Too bad you got all that lint

Get the hint

Say my name now

Ask me how

Say it loud and proud

See me without that shroud

you put on my head

Give me head

standing up in bed and on

your head

Give me face

Before I disgrace you

And taste what I release

popping like grease

Take it like you take it

I don’t care if you fake it

Just as long as you follow

after you swallow