Didn't bleed for you

This is my pen,
and this is how I behave,
I can't write,
so my pen plays the game,
I stand still,
but with writer's block it's not enough,
so I'll twist my rubber arm,
and let my pen bleed blood.

I grew up in the street,
and unbeknownst to me,
I learnt to be a thief,
and now I'm untrustworthy.

I block my door with a set of bricks,
I live in a good area,
but my mentality remains fear-first,
and the fear is something I can't lick.

The blood in my veins is blue like ink,
I hate my past life,
as its an excuse to drink...
I look at everyone from an angle,
and that's the truth,
I've been trainwrecked in my life,
if you were me,
you're blood would be blue too!

So I speak with my pen,
and not with my mouth,
these sheep who don't listen,
understand nothing about...
...what I deal with,
and by me that's fine,
as I can sit and write,
any type of rhyme.

This write was forced,
but what would you do,
if your heart only bleeds ink,
and it didn't bleed for you?

©Steve Bertrand aka. stevieb 20130402


Love or disaster

I spit legit non-counterfeit shit quick,
abusing the alphabet,
to create lyrical bliss.
I don't miss,
I am always on the mark,
creating verbal forest fires,
from small linguistic sparks.
Writing ringtones for your eyes,
from my soul not my mind,
I don't write to beats,
my words create their own kind.
You will see me in the streets,
writing poetry,
it is a blessing and a curse,
this fuckin verbal alchemy.

My own laws I obey,
I never portray,
to be something I'm not,
I just say what I say,
kicking up dust,
stirring up lust,
disturbing peoples attention is no desire,
it's a must.


I spit rhymes faster,
than a sword drawn by a samurai master,
creating love or disaster,
writing lyrics from the perspective of a poor fatherless bastard.
I inject venom in my spit,
when I get fuckin pissed,
I use the world as my sounding board,
while I disregard all the risks.


I am who you read,
freestyling through life is for me,
I believe,
that words can be more powerful than an infantry.
Use a knife in this fight,
and I'll use my words,
how absurd you thinking you can cut me before I sever your last nerve.
We can do physical confrontation,
or verbal altercation,
I will come out on top,
causing your hesitation with my verbal assimilation,
as you fight your own frustrations,
as I rap circles around your ass as you stand dumbfounded in amazement.
Basement... get up out of that hole,
be proud to stand up for what you live for,
love yourself,
do not accept defeat,
get back on your feet as I poke my hook through this meat...


I spit rhymes faster,
than a sword drawn by a samurai master,
creating love or disaster,
writing lyrics from the perspective of a poor fatherless bastard.
I inject venom in my spit,
when I get fuckin pissed,
I use the world as my sounding board,
while I disregard all the risks.


I use my words to write the story of my life,
because not despite,
the fact I was mostly shadowed from light,
living in abandonment's spite,
on this planet always feeling it was night.
But now I'm awake, and I can see straight,
I wouldn't be who I am without my hate or drug addict traits,
I"m no longer a disgrace,
I give back what I take,
the bed I lay in is the bed I fuckin make.
Abusing the alphabet,
but being kind to all else,
is how I can feel good about myself.
If you doubt your own talents,
just look at me,
accepting my gifts graciously,
living patiently,
appreciating proudly what this fatherless bastard become to be.


I spit rhymes faster,
than a sword drawn by a samurai master,
creating love or disaster,
writing lyrics from the perspective of a poor fatherless bastard.
I inject venom in my spit,
when I get fuckin pissed,
I use the world as my sounding board,
while I disregard all the risks.

-stevieb 2k110724


As I sit on this couch

As I sit on this couch,
in this abandoned house,
I wonder what could be stirring,
beyond the feelings of doubt.

I can see much from my past,
that could be tying me,
to have the belief,
that hope shouldn't be within me.

I don't really lie,
and my secrets are evident,
those that look,
can see I want to set positive precidents.

My only crime,
is hidden in truth,
I want everyone to win,
if you were me... wouldn't you?

As I sit on this couch,
in this abandoned house,
I forgive my own past,
and declare war on my doubt.

© Steve Bertrand aka. stevieb 2k120207


Stop the lies and the hatred

My ill conceived ideas for illegal profit makin',
sets a precedent for society's condemnation,
I'm not looking for trouble,
just staying outside society,
as it's just a religious filled sanitation


It's an emotional prison,
if you step out the rules,
you become part of the global cataclysm,
it's my mission,
to stand up,
to not give a fuck,
smash the lust and trust of the laws,
unjust that keep the obeying dunces pushing forward the agenda of the,
thugs that are corrupted.

My actions can be debated,
but who are those to say,
with their church going ways,
I'm not saying that religion is the err of our ways,
everyone needs faith,
I just won't critically acclaim,
anything that praises a guy nailed to a stake,
but I love you anyways,
because no matter what you say,
we are all one;
one in the very same.

I'm just ranting,
openly and non-discreet,
I could care less who you praise with your head at their feet,
my point isn't unique,
please see it for what it's worth,
you're not sinning if you disobey laws that destroy this very earth.

Think about it,
look past the laws we've created,
and ask yourself,
what could you do to stop the lies and the hatred.

© Steve Bertrand aka stevieb 20120412


No more air to breathe

the land of the free,
where the rich control life,
and the people are asleep,
wake up,
wake up,
start giving a fuck,
you can't see all is broken,
but the rest of the world does.

The towers,
then Osama Bin Laden,
you've traded love for blood,
and your love has been forgotten.

The machine is displeasing,
it's filthy and unclean,
eradicating purity instilling insecurity,
I speak of the American dream,
its instilled hate into life,
redefined wrong into right,
when will you realize that you murder,
when you think you're out to fight?,
you need insight,
into what the world perceives,
a broken land of hopeless man,
in the pursuit of a fiat currency.

You destroy what isn't yours,
rape the world until it's torn,
unleashed a hailstorm of mourning,
only consumerism keeps you blindfolded from the boredom,
masking yourself into debt,
because you follow society's path of buying things you can't afford.

America is America,
the homeland of the greed,
you never ask politely,
you just steal forcefully,
you listen to the media,
each story and its song,
not realizing that they're owned,
by those who are in control.

You superficially band together,
when homeland structures are bombed,
but it's your own aware citizens who desire,
to fill pipe bombs full of nails and all of their resolve,
in an attempt at their expense to staple their country's hatred to the wall.

They're not radicals,
they're just like you or me,
they've just awakened,
tho their own illegitimacy,
for their own cause,
who's to say it's wrong,
it's your country who's been bombing and murdering citizens all along!

You need to wake up,
walk away from the TV and believe,
that if things don't change,
corporate America's greed will rape this planet until there's no more air to breathe.

© Steve Bertrand aka. stevieb 20120313


I fell in love

I don't know what it was,
but I just fell in love,
you are my dreams come true,
and I can't get enough.

So I reach out with faith,
while knowing you're there,
one can't plan for this love,
one can't be prepared.

I've given everything, from the core of my soul,
we share secrets together, that nobody knows,
all my life, I've felt I was broken,
kept everything in, especially my emotions.

Then *you* came along,
and I began to feel free,
released this love that I have,
I never knew I contained within me.

Now here we are,
and a year has gone past,
we were designed to be together,
this is as simple as fact.

We both have our issues,
and both experience discord,
so if love is the cost,
then you I can afford.

I love you so much,
I used to dream of the day,
I would have this love,
and have such a beautiful package,
to adore in all ways.

© Steve Bertrand aka. stevieb 20110209


A piece of the puzzle

I've never swayed on this blog from writing, but I'm about to. I walked through the neighborhood that I grew up in today, and snapped some pics. This is, what it is.

This is my first time commenting on pics inline on my blog.

I moved to this street when I was 4-5 years old. All was not well, but it was. I fear saying much because I desire not to disrespect my family members. However... my brothers and I had the most loving and warm household in this block. Period.

To the right is where I lived. As I was traversing the area today, many feelings and emotions came over me, as did memories. I reflected on the tenseness and violence I faced. It was like it was right there again. I never was a violent person unless provoked, but it was like I was shocked into an understanding of what my past was...

This is looking in the front door. The window in the back was the dining room/ kitchen. Straight up the stairs was the bathroom. Above me is my room, and just to my left above me is where my brothers rested their heads.

 Looking in through the back window, this was our kitchen. I remember we had a 19-ancient dishwasher on wheels, that had to be rolled near the sink to be connected. If my boys and I had done something wrong to the point Mom might be upset, we'd unload the dishwasher in the morning for her to show her that we were angels.
 Still looking in through the kitchen window. Right below me would have been our kitchen table, and across, the fridge. To the extreme left (unseen) was the back door, and barely visible to the left is the door to the basement. The entry way on the left top is to the living room. I remember one time, that my youngest brother and I got into shit (I think for throwing something at a bus), so we were 'grounded'. This very day I heard from a friend about 'warp zones' on Super Mario Bros.'. So as my middle brother was playing this game in the living room, I'm sitting on the floor by this entrance way, shouting at him what he needs to do in order to get to this 'warp zone' in this game.

We didn't have much. We got our Nintendo from what became our step-father (RIP) long after anyone else did. We were fortunate this way. No one else on our block had anyone like Jim. He wasn't the transient man that every other door in our neighbourhood had. He came for dinner, then left. I respect the man. Moreover, I respect my Mom for instilling in me that a woman deserves respect. She neglected her personal needs for us.
 This is looking into the 'back park' from our back yard. Over the years, they removed the yards (we had a decent one then, with a little spruce tree). This is where I learnt how to hop fences. Probably at six-seven years old, I could hop an eight foot fence without barely touching it. Mom didn't want us in the 'back park'. There was commonplace violence, drugs weapons and general child neglect up here. Of course, we learnt early to let Mom be calm by thinking we were good, but the reality of living in this situation turns an honest person into a good liar in a hurry.
 My front door. Top right window was my bedroom. The window to the left of that was my beloved children brother's room.
 Walking in the 'back park'. I observed that things haven't changed much. There isn't much for children to do. I pulled out my camera and snapped a picture of these young kids (probably 7-9) using a stick to play individual baseball with empty beer cans.
 Some writing on the wall.
 Continued my walk through what used to be forest and field, but what is now urban development to the rear of my elementary school. I spent kindegarten to grade 8 here. I never was naturally a violent person, and throughout my life, I have only fought for specific reasons. On one day, I was in grade 1, and right about the spot I stand here, I fought a kid named Ronny Reynolds. It was quite vicious. I lost the fight (the only one I will ever admit to 'losing'), but I gained my respect.

Ron lived a few doors down from us, and I had heard that he was going to hurt my brother when he got home. I don't even think my brother was in school yet. So I got my brown ugly cords dirty with him, and went home pretty hurt. Although I conceeded to defeat, I had stood up for my area, and claimed that I will defend my family at all costs.

A few days later, Ronny and I ate peanut butter from a spoon in his kitchen, then went outside and watched a neighbour 'fix' a Camaro that was up on blocks. A common sight.

I don't believe that my brothers know this, but much of my young life was lived watching over and protecting them, so they could have a life in what I knew as hell, which quickly became normal to me. I learnt quickly... I befriended people from all ends of the scale. I never completely got away from the 'poor' taunts, but a few key fights allowed me to 'fit in' so that I wouldn't be bothered again. In grade 6, I met a wonderful girl who I didn't know how to properly respect or understand (who has subsequently become a wonderful woman), and in grade eight, I befriended a couple of the middle-class people who I never would have expected that they'd pay any attention to me.
...and here it is. My school. Where I  began my education that made me the terrorist I am.