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Darius Daughtry

@dariusdaughtry

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- @artprevailsproject is at it again this Saturday. Performing will be @stichiz, @datgirlgood, @therealpaulmorris, @christopherjames11 and more. We'll also be collecting items for relief efforts. Meet us at the Megaphone! It's gonna be a party! Saturday, October 7th 5-8p 808 NW 13th Terrace Ft. Lauderdale 33311 @cfbroward @browardarts @ymcasoflo @nwgcommunity #artprevailsproject #saturdaysessions #fortlauderdale #ftlauderdale #arts #performingarts #poetry #dance #music #hiphop #southflorida #community #sistrunk
- @artprevailsproject is at it again this Saturday. Performing will be @stichiz , @datgirlgood , @therealpaulmorris , @christopherjames11 and more. We& #39;ll also be collecting items for relief efforts. Meet us at the Megaphone! It& #39;s gonna be a party! Saturday, October 7th 5-8p 808 NW 13th Terrace Ft. Lauderdale 33311 @cfbroward @browardarts @ymcasoflo @nwgcommunity #artprevailsproject #saturdaysessions #fortlauderdale #ftlauderdale #arts #performingarts #poetry #dance #music #hiphop #southflorida #community #sistrunk
- @artprevailsproject is at it again this Saturday. Performing will be @stichiz, @datgirlgood, @therealpaulmorris, @christopherjames11 and more. We'll also be collecting items for relief efforts. Meet us at the Megaphone! It's gonna be a party! Saturday, October 7th 5-8p 808 NW 13th Terrace Ft. Lauderdale 33311 @cfbroward @browardarts @ymcasoflo @nwgcommunity #artprevailsproject #saturdaysessions #fortlauderdale #ftlauderdale #arts #performingarts #poetry #dance #music #hiphop #southflorida #community #sistrunk
- Home - There’s no place like home There’s no place like home. But millions were stolen, forced to roam like nomads No bags. Just baggage History, culture, traditions ravished in cotton fields On foreign soil that was never home They refused to see me Beat the Bantu off my back Stripped Swahili from my skin Shackled my feet until I forgot the rhythm of my own dance Hands that built great wonders chopped off at the wrist This never was my home. Home. Where the heart is. Where one can rest. Peacefully. But this bed always felt like hatred. Pillow head full of thorns In the cold of the night Only covers and blankets of scorn There’s no place like home. Where the heart is. Well, part is in Senegal or the congo or angola or maybe Sierra Leone Parts unkown I once traced my tracks with stars Now, I am lost, not in the wild waiting for whispers in the wind… But sound seems familiar but I can’t quite make it out. Can’t catch the cadence Dialect indecipherable But it feels like it knows my name. Knows from whence I came… It seems like its sees me. I hear home’s utterances in hidden Southern enclaves Where slaves held home in their hearts and hands Echoed an all but forgotten essence, Ensuring the mother’s eternal presence. Nestled in Georgia spots and Carolina coves Are living reminders of home. Walking, talking postcards from times long gone. See, we have Geechee speech or Gullah stutter that remind us how home might have sounded, We hear it in Patois and Creole In stories told Breh Rabbit and those Echoes of griots that spread the word. But I have been taught to hate that. To ridicule Label them fools Who need to get with the times. I’ve been taught to melt, mold let go of anything that reminds me of home. They tell convicts the very same thing. To forget about anything beyond those walls. But the ones that make it are those that heed home’s calls. Those that don’t lose themselves, but find themselves in the midst of unfamiliar surroundings. Pounding until the walls of Jericho come tumbling down. I am pounding. Looking towards the stars. Listening to the wind. Open to connecting to a home I’ve never touched but have always known. #poetry #poet #nationalpoetryday
- Home - There’s no place like home There’s no place like home. But millions were stolen, forced to roam like nomads No bags. Just baggage History, culture, traditions ravished in cotton fields On foreign soil that was never home They refused to see me Beat the Bantu off my back Stripped Swahili from my skin Shackled my feet until I forgot the rhythm of my own dance Hands that built great wonders chopped off at the wrist This never was my home. Home. Where the heart is. Where one can rest. Peacefully. But this bed always felt like hatred. Pillow head full of thorns In the cold of the night Only covers and blankets of scorn There’s no place like home. Where the heart is. Well, part is in Senegal or the congo or angola or maybe Sierra Leone Parts unkown I once traced my tracks with stars Now, I am lost, not in the wild waiting for whispers in the wind… But sound seems familiar but I can’t quite make it out. Can’t catch the cadence Dialect indecipherable But it feels like it knows my name. Knows from whence I came… It seems like its sees me. I hear home’s utterances in hidden Southern enclaves Where slaves held home in their hearts and hands Echoed an all but forgotten essence, Ensuring the mother’s eternal presence. Nestled in Georgia spots and Carolina coves Are living reminders of home. Walking, talking postcards from times long gone. See, we have Geechee speech or Gullah stutter that remind us how home might have sounded, We hear it in Patois and Creole In stories told Breh Rabbit and those Echoes of griots that spread the word. But I have been taught to hate that. To ridicule Label them fools Who need to get with the times. I’ve been taught to melt, mold let go of anything that reminds me of home. They tell convicts the very same thing. To forget about anything beyond those walls. But the ones that make it are those that heed home’s calls. Those that don’t lose themselves, but find themselves in the midst of unfamiliar surroundings. Pounding until the walls of Jericho come tumbling down. I am pounding. Looking towards the stars. Listening to the wind. Open to connecting to a home I’ve never touched but have always known. #poetry #poet #nationalpoetryday
- Home - There’s no place like home There’s no place like home. But millions were stolen, forced to roam like nomads No bags. Just baggage History, culture, traditions ravished in cotton fields On foreign soil that was never home They refused to see me Beat the Bantu off my back Stripped Swahili from my skin Shackled my feet until I forgot the rhythm of my own dance Hands that built great wonders chopped off at the wrist This never was my home. Home. Where the heart is. Where one can rest. Peacefully. But this bed always felt like hatred. Pillow head full of thorns In the cold of the night Only covers and blankets of scorn There’s no place like home. Where the heart is. Well, part is in Senegal or the congo or angola or maybe Sierra Leone Parts unkown I once traced my tracks with stars Now, I am lost, not in the wild waiting for whispers in the wind… But sound seems familiar but I can’t quite make it out. Can’t catch the cadence Dialect indecipherable But it feels like it knows my name. Knows from whence I came… It seems like its sees me. I hear home’s utterances in hidden Southern enclaves Where slaves held home in their hearts and hands Echoed an all but forgotten essence, Ensuring the mother’s eternal presence. Nestled in Georgia spots and Carolina coves Are living reminders of home. Walking, talking postcards from times long gone. See, we have Geechee speech or Gullah stutter that remind us how home might have sounded, We hear it in Patois and Creole In stories told Breh Rabbit and those Echoes of griots that spread the word. But I have been taught to hate that. To ridicule Label them fools Who need to get with the times. I’ve been taught to melt, mold let go of anything that reminds me of home. They tell convicts the very same thing. To forget about anything beyond those walls. But the ones that make it are those that heed home’s calls. Those that don’t lose themselves, but find themselves in the midst of unfamiliar surroundings. Pounding until the walls of Jericho come tumbling down. I am pounding. Looking towards the stars. Listening to the wind. Open to connecting to a home I’ve never touched but have always known. #poetry #poet #nationalpoetryday
- Finally got around to watching The Defiant Ones on @hbo. Such compelling stories about @drdre and Jimmy Iovine and their respective journeys. This clip encapsulates the my takeaway. As artist or entrepreneur or whatever, there has to be a defiance imbedded in your soul, because there will be every opportunity for you to give up, pack it in, and to succumb to all of the forces around you. You can't take NO for an answer, even if you're the one telling yourself NO. #thedefiantones #artists #writer #playwright #poet #director #educator #entrepreneur @artprevailsproject
- Finally got around to watching The Defiant Ones on @hbo. Such compelling stories about @drdre and Jimmy Iovine and their respective journeys. This clip encapsulates the my takeaway. As artist or entrepreneur or whatever, there has to be a defiance imbedded in your soul, because there will be every opportunity for you to give up, pack it in, and to succumb to all of the forces around you. You can& #39;t take NO for an answer, even if you& #39;re the one telling yourself NO. #thedefiantones #artists #writer #playwright #poet #director #educator #entrepreneur @artprevailsproject
- Finally got around to watching The Defiant Ones on @hbo. Such compelling stories about @drdre and Jimmy Iovine and their respective journeys. This clip encapsulates the my takeaway. As artist or entrepreneur or whatever, there has to be a defiance imbedded in your soul, because there will be every opportunity for you to give up, pack it in, and to succumb to all of the forces around you. You can't take NO for an answer, even if you're the one telling yourself NO. #thedefiantones #artists #writer #playwright #poet #director #educator #entrepreneur @artprevailsproject

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