These perpetrators trying to live on elevators.
They get stuck on the easy route
They should have of just taken the stairs.
There’s levels to this shit,
You couldn’t reach the top,
even if you are standing on the highest pedestal, with a chair on top, and both hands in the air.
I could careless, but when you breath it pollutes my air.
Watering it down the game, until all that‘s left it total shame.
Who is there to blame?
Who are you?
I’d rather call you by your real name.
Thinking you’re blowing up Hip-Hop,
but you just Pop.
I won’t stop – until you feel the need to.
I don’t pay you much attention, but my smirk is cordial.
Snickering at your lollipop lyrics, it’s like taking candy from a baby.
I snatch the volume down to make sure nobody hears it.
Your mumbling and fumbling over your words.
The first time you spit, it stayed on your shirt, couldn’t hardly make it to the curb.
Now you’re chillin with some sick peep, but they aren’t the iLLest. The conglomerates coming through.
I am Vigilant Leighrick..

Who Needs Sleep?

Instead of sleeping I think.
Conversing with my Conscience.
rekindling memories and setting ablaze doubts.
I am the smile and the frown, together
Shaping beauty.
Jaded compliments, opening old wounds
Tho deceptive as the skin may be,
The density of my bones, upholds a heavy spirit.
A paradox.
It beams light, and eases darkness.
Breaching the infrastructure of this tale, it’s growing
Rooted so far down the sky becomes the ground, and
My solar plexus houses the blueprints of galaxies.
Invisible to looking eyes.
Tap into the 3rd frequency, and see
Wisdom is heard in the whispers.
Instead of sleeping I think.
Imagining my own colors,
Sanding a frame of sizable impression for masterpieces.
Empathy is kept safe in the right atrium’s, saving what’s left for the ventricles.
I found love on a two way street,
Sitting at the crossroads.
Lotus Pose.
Unlocking the gift to
Instead of sleeping, I think.


Letter to the Future [Lost Children pt 1]

Dear Lost Children,

I am writing you this letter, asking you to take my hand. I would like us to take a trip to see this countries past. I am writing you this letter letting you know not to be scared, because I am here to prepare you. I know you yearn for knowledge and guidance, but they’re hiding and burning the books in which some truths are kept (in order to sustain this well lit Hell). I know you are starving, but please child, do not kneel to the Golden Arches of the Burger Kings. I know you want to play, but please don’t roam these streets following the blind, and unattended.

You may ask, “who am I?” or “who are you?“; I am the Present and you are the Future. You see — I am writing you this letter as a gift, so TURN OFF THE TELEVISION and READ. I know you’re young, therefore you need to understand they are killing Our Mother, Our Sisters, and Our Brothers! But this Nation was founded on lies and corruption, so you have every right to blame our Fore Fathers.

Lost Children you may not be concerned because they’ve put you in a box, and marked the target with an “X“, but Ive come to help heal you. They are trying to strip you of everything. I hand-down to you any and everything I have to ensure your Knowledge and Safety.

PLEASE PAY ATTENTION! I know it’s hard because your young, don’t let them trick you into thinking you have some disorder, they are just scared at the fact that I’m lining you up like soldiers and preparing for you the take over. I can BET my life and guarantee that these next couple of 16 years wont be so sweet. You’re absorbing all this like a sponge, but I refuse to let them dumb you down like Patrick.

TURN OFF THE RADIO! Don’t repeat those demeaning words, I know its hard because the tune is catchy, but my generation is the victim to the venom , and are now they have become lost generals. Listen to me, you Lost Children are our not so distant futures last chance at hope. But you don’t need the whips and chains, to see that this countries is trying make your life worth less  rather than change. Be the change, and the sense, you are worth everything I’ve wrote.

Do not eat the shit they feed you, because it’ll only stunt your growth and widen the chances of you being incapable, but NEVER GIVE UP! And if I am not present, and they so happen to knock you down its okay. Just GET UP, do not stand by and allow them to keep thinking they’re stronger. PUT THAT HAPPY MEAL DOWN!

Lost Children, I know it hurts, but I’m trying to ease the pain and heal you, because these battle scars leave marks embedded in you physically and mentally. I am sorry my children, but war has been declared. I’ll just end this first letter asking you to join me on the next journey, our brother and sister countries, and prepare to save them too….


 I will be here to help guide you…




Leighrick, The Present

Beauty Doesn’t Sleep

With this silver bladed tongue

I am cutting through diamonds and tarnishing gold.

Watch my tongue unfold, I am spitting hollow tips.

With grip that pierces flesh and grabs onto your spirit.

I wont let go;

As long as I have hold of your soul, you’re going to hear it —

My voice that is.

Try to silence me and my eyes shoot beams like Cyclops

I’m focusing.

I can hear a feather drop,

When I’m not listening to my self breathe.


This dish is best served cold on a silver platter

Grab your silver spoon and eat this truth until your belly aches;

Your shitting the bricks that built your home

Real estate.


A great debater, but I am no competition for Washington.

I’m spending my training days writing not riding.

There’s no insured survival, but I’m not shy about taking risks.


Fist in the air pumping up the power and the volume.

The 808s break my heart and my eardrums too.


Smoke clouds fill the room.

This dramatic entrance has a certain aroma,

appearing before me I’m unsure if its the Virgin,

Or Jane playing tricks on me.

No no this Grimm

You fear death; on the other hand

I wrap the belt around my neck like a tie.


Contusions deep enough to leave my body paralyzed.

The only thing I fill, are the lines on the paper.


She got game tho, seemingly Jesus when the clock winds down.


I approach the mic with un-calming nervousness,

as if I am standing at the pulpit asking to be reborn again.


Sleeping like an infant by the hours,

I wake up.

There are ghetto birds outside my window.


I spit on the mirrors of narcissist, now they see a bit clearer.



Hempathy : Staring Through Vanity.

I collaborated with my twin, Samuel, and we’ve created “Hempathy”. This piece branching from a simple conversation. “Is a secret truly a secret, if everyone knows it, but no one talks about it?

Shit, all i feel is hempathy, that’s hemp therapy simply

I’m a smoke till I see God and ask him why I feel this way mentally

Signed, yours truly, sincerely hoping that my best wishes are not just farewells to sanity

While I blow Kush smoke in mirrors subconsciously embracing vanity, and talking to myself–


A controlled free spirit trying to think of a purpose, is it worth it?

My heart wants to jump out my chest just so I can put this work in

I start feeling like, “damn do I deserve this?”

Whether I weather the storm, this forecast is my own, this black cloud is only following me

When it rains my cup is filled — half full, tho inside I feel so empty

Success is so tempting!

The weight of the world is on my shoulders and all I feel is sympathy.

Visions of visionaries screaming knowledge from the cemeteries.

In the moment I was being birthed I felt God’s whispers as he spoke to me.

The smoke clears. There’s no longer clarity.

Sitting at the vanity 2 hazed eyes, and the 3rd one so vivid that it scares me.


Cry for help like a newborn left in a bin, or for some brotha without a motha heading straight for the pen,

I cleaned my slate with those tears and headed straight for my pen,

Then walked up to the fountain of youth and threw a couple of pennies in, like, here’s my two cents–

That should pay what you’re worth, delusions of immortality,

I’ve been ready for death since birth,

Realize your lies mean nothing, they say the meek shall inherit the earth.


Knowledge is power, except it feels more like a curse.

I hand out flowers today because I witnessed tomorrow riding in a hearse.

The gangsta’s spray their semis while the kids run for cover.

Sirens are my alarm clock, while I hide under my covers.

A world unprepared for the voices they’ve silenced by fear.

Not me, I am no longer scared.

I have been scarred interacting with the living dead.

Conniving like con-artist, without guidance I walk amongst the blind.

Pick pocketing every thought.

They don’t get me, but at least they aint got me!

They tried snatching my spirit from me out my cradle just to place me in a tomb.

The killers perish with their intentions, but the believers never die from their wounds.

Imagine spending your whole life trying not to cry.

Misery loves company and the world is its companion.

Birthing monstrosities that  label themselves as super human beings.

Assassins assassinating, I chose to replace them.

If I were to murder one person, it would be –ME!

Because there is one thing I yearn for most is my body to rest and my soul to be FREE

Only then will the mind solider be at ease.


Leighrick & Samuel


Take Me to Your Future

My mind is racing. My shoulders are heavy from the burdens I carry from the past.

Memories are forever, there is no altering longevity.

Currently I find myself tip-toeing backwards while the future is whispering, “come to me“.

I have to be all I can be, except I find myself at delinquencies doorstep.

Throwing boulders through glass; unfortunately this is my dream house.

Who dared to arouse these feelings of superiority?

Mistakenly believing I control my fate, and can wooo it in to falling in love with destiny.

My days are challenged by just waking up, ironically I refuse to lay down.

Often when I think there’s nothing left to say, I tend to repeat myself.

The same message, with some different words, and a similar rhythm to a piece you may have heard.


You don’t have to listen to me, like my style, or quote every line;


I do ask that you feel apart of what I write, because I rather not use my hands to touch you.

I’d much rather let my words set in place for the feast your will devour.

Served with sweet dreams, soulful auras , a breast sided with pieces of my heart, and a wholesome mind — all catered to you on a silver platter.

While you’re asking questions, like

what’s that pink matter?

what’s the grey matter?

Answering your questions with my curiosity.

Why does color even exist?

Blessings in disguise.

Would there be judgements if we weren’t aware of the color of wealth?

Would the word savage exist?

Once I was asked, “What is Power?

I balled up my fist and raised my arm. I am Power in it’s fullest existence.

You can seek my name in a dictionary, but you would fail at discovering a definition.

No image  is worthy enough to moderately depict this.

This being the reason I create masterpieces with writing instruments.

Judgements are endlessly passed. I’m intrigued by the witnesses.

Every prosecution plead to the 5th.

In life every one makes mistakes — I’m just tired of defending it.

What is “It” ?

It is who I am, what I want, and how I plan to become accomplished .

Tho when I do,

Forgiving will be the death of me because Forgetting is despair.