The Musical

There they were, dancing in the rain.

For some odd reason they just kept dancing even in the midst of chaos.

In war, they danced.

In peace, they danced.

They took over my thoughts; I just had to watch them, I couldn’t help it.

Their moves were all in sequence, everyone kept their rhythm.

In the middle of a pandemic, they danced.

In the wrath of storms and tornadoes, they just kept dancing.

Tariffs soon ravaged the markets and there they were still dancing in the streets.

I recall this one back step with a sliver of the body. 

It was groovy.

Feeling the weight of the world I gave up on my own ambitions and joined in. 

My troubled mind left it all on the dance floor.

I don’t know what happened, but they transformed me and they put it all on video.

The Musical

Even on the edge in what appeared as a doomed world, everyone just seemed so happy.

Home

If I told a child that some people live in the woods, he or she probably would not believe me.

So I ask, “What is home?”

It’s a place to relax.

It’s a place to unwind.

Sadly, not everyone can afford a home and, sadly, not everyone has a place to call home.

Home to some maybe on a street corner while a home for others may be in a mansion.

In a world where people seem to never be satisfied, we may find ourselves ungrateful for the home that we do have while others are left to suffer.

It’s important to not hold on to material ambitions because those whom we consider toxic would gladly love the life that many of us take for granted.

A lost child with no where to go…

A mother with nothing left…

A soldier yearning to make it to one place…

A place that we call,

“Home.”

The Private Sex Ed Text Messages

 Goodnight family much love, Edith never told me anything about her sex life. I wonder if she liked porn as much as John did? So many unknowns about the family tree.

Nathanial was a nasty man, I’ve come to accept the fact that we live in a nasty world. The founding fathers were nasty and the entire slave trade was filled with nasty men. This is a nasty world that keeps turning. Have a good weekend. 

Nasty people do great things. I rather still enjoy R & B Kelly’s greatest hits.

As I get older I’v come to accept that there is no escape from nasty. It’s become contagious. It’s spread like COVID.

Even bill said don’t ask don’t tell then he got nasty in the white house. People all over the world exploded somehow into nastiness. 

Married people even watch nasty people to feel nasty around each other. I guess nasty has a spark that ignites the flames. We can all thank nasty for us all being alive.

People getting nasty at work, at the beach, in the closets, at church, and even in cars. People of all ages with or without money some with other people’s property. Nasty is normal, You know, to conclude my dissertation, I know for sure that I have proof that it’s a nasty world.

Poles in the bedroom, oils everywhere, and to top it off there’s plastic toys under the bed hidden in plain sight. 

NASTY 

Vote for me I’ve got nothing to hide.

I was preparing to die

 “If this is my life, then the people around me only see themselves, so even if I’m dead, how would I know? Therefore; I could be dead, but alive in another life not knowing that I’ve died a million times.”

My obituary, lord willing, will say that I was a United States veteran. It will not say that during my years of service that I honestly didn’t think I was going to make it out alive. The president at the time had a lot of oil ties and he and his father had some unsettled business. While watching the towers fall, mass tribute songs had been released and I saw death on television. As March ends and we begin April, once again, turtle island has to decide. I was in my teens when I served and I admit that I pushed and I pushed everyday, but my flaw was that I did not think nor believe that I was going to make it out of the war on terror alive. People were jumping to their death as huge buildings fell from the sky. There was small fighting going on in planes in the skies. It drove me to hate war and sadly I lost the ability to use my full brain but over time became healed. Blessed with the gift of common sense, I cut off everyone whom I would hurt if I were to die. I lost faith in the idea of survival and prepared to reach the other side. Every day I had to face my fears. I, like many other enlisted men and women had surrendered my soul to serve and defend the constitution of the United States of America and that we did. I’m sharing this story because while on the edge of life trapped inside of a floating steel ship frame I had to learn something about divine intervention. Being so young, I had to stomach the fact that I would never return home because the war on terror was a drain. It was a test to see how far the human body would go until it just collapsed and while seeing the gates of heaven, apparently, it was not my time. I woke up in a hospital on the island of Puerto Rico.

I do recall a song at the time called the “World’s Greatest” the man who sang it is in jail now, I believe, but I rather enjoyed the tribute song and can’t find the copy that brung me so much joy. The people who enlist in any military branch have to be unique. My lesson in this piece is the simple fact that I saw excellence on display everyday of service. I saw people flying broken planes and steering broken ships. I admit that when I concluded that I was going to die, God himself showed me who was boss. I entered the kingdom of a free heaven, filled with possibilities and peace only to be told that, “Young man, you have a life to live and it’s not your time.”

Today, as we head into April, we remember the life of Brian Keith West, a man so devoted to freedom that he entered the gates of heaven so liberated in death, for the service to his country and the people, that God himself resurrected him from the dead and gave him a second chance at life on earth. 

I’m in my forties now and God proved me wrong and while prepared to die at that time we laughed together, realizing that if God invented death, he also invented life; therefore, as long as I answer to him, it’s a win win situation.

Rest in peace.

Here lies the tomb of Brian Keith West, still alive in his own world somewhere else.

He lives.

The Allure of the Green Elephants

 “Junior, where’s your brother Bino?” Jamil asked her son.

“He’s in the back smoking weed with Ray,” Junior replied.

Jamil was tired of her son doing things that were not productive so she pinned his face to a book and left to go to the store. She needed a change, so she rode her donkey to the store to buy more books for her kids. Growing in frustration with how low and slow the donkey was she couldn’t help but notice two big green elephants on sale. She, and the family had been riding their donkey for so long that Jamil just couldn’t take it anymore. Later that day, Junior and his brother noticed that his mother was back, but the donkeys were gone.

“Mom, where’s the donkey?” Junior asked.

“Well, your father and I decided that we needed something a bit stronger. Times are hard so we need something that we as a family can depend on,” Jamil said, smiling at their new ride.

“So you bought green elephants,” Junior replied noticing his mother and father acting strange.

“God is good!” His mother said feeding their new animal friends. 

Junior went to his room and noticed his brother duck taped to a green book with a marijuana leaf on it.  

“Mom and dad aren’t the same anymore Junior, they chained me to this desk and tried to force me to read this book about the side effects of weed. I refused and they put green duck tape around my head and taped me to the book. They’ve lost it. They said it would change my luck. Junior help me, please, help me!” Junior’s brother Bino said while gasping for air as his face remained stuck to the book.

“I noticed that they bought two big green elephants, yeah, I would say they’ve either lost it or they’re trying to make a point. Where’s Ray?” Junior asked.

“Dad chased him off because he kept selling me weed. Our parents are not the same anymore, they even got the WiFi blocked so we can’t use it,” Bino said.

Junior could hear his mom calling him from downstairs.

“Junior!” 

“Yes, Mom!” He replied.

“Your dad said come and plug the green elephants into their charging ports before they go dead,” Junior’s mom said.

“Mom, you don’t charge elephants, they’re animals,” Junior said looking at his brother.

“Yeah, Bee, I think they’ve lost it.”

Realizing that his parents were determined to make sure that he and his brother made something out of themselves, Junior watched from his room as his mother and father rode off into the neighborhood on their green elephants. Either the elephants posed as some form of good luck or his parents were really determined to stand on top of the crowd. Either way, Junior and his brother had to accept it as the new normal. There was just something about those green elephants that got everyone all excited.

The Allure of the Green Elephants 

The Green Pyramids

There she stood, the green eyed dreadlock virgin Queen. Men fought, bled, and died to receive her blessings.

“What do you desire?” Her father asked.

“I want every man in our dynasty to build me green pyramids that will stand tall until I return from the underworld. I want the pyramids to be as beautiful as my green eyes,” Queen Isis said.

Here father rushed and gave every man her message and they began to build as she took her journey through the underworld.

After their work was complete a lion stood at the entrance and turned into stone as she rested for her soul descended into the underworld to save the world.

In the span of five thousand years archaeologists were digging and found her mummified remains. A green gas  soon filled the chamber.

“Who dare comb through the remains of my people?” Queen Isis said rising from the underworld with her army.

Pagan symbols and cultures were everywhere. Being the true goddess of life she saw her green pyramids and was pleased. 

Floating with her golden army, she was now immortal and as mortal men fought she stood atop of Mt. Olive with her lion roaring like thunder.

“I am!” She shouted as the entire gravitational pull of the earth and the heavens began to gravitate around her.

“I am!” She shouted again as all things were summoned to adore and worship her.

All the dead rose and all that was good was created by her. The trickery of those seeking answers had no choice but to return her dynasty’s belongings back to her land. Standing on top of the earth the entire universe extracted in the palm of her hand.

“I am!” She shouted the third time with all power.

She, and her army of gold warriors conquered the underworld only to return to see that her men had completed the task for generations to marvel at mountains of green pyramids. 

The green eyed dreadlock queen returned and walked the earth to bring all death to life and that she did for everything that she touched was anointed to grow. She alone was and still is the truth and nothing could exist without her.

She was everything, and when the people looked into her green eyes it gave them eternal life.

In her, all odds were stacked in her favor. All that she was and all that she is as time stood in the palm of her hand was and still is greatness.

Because of her the world knew that the impossible could be done.

The Green Pyramids 

The Green Board Meeting

 “Jessie, read the minutes please?” Dave asked, patiently waiting for the updates from the last meeting.

“No,” Jessie mumbled.

This got everyone’s attention. The entire room grew silent awaiting Dave’s response.

“Memberships are down. We have no green gold left and I’m tired of working this green board for free,” Jessie said as his spine stiffened up.

Dave picked up his chair and threw it at Jessie and after that the board meeting erupted into complete chaos.

It was clear that Jessie was tired of Dave’s terrible job as president and other board members grabbed Dave off of Jessie. 

Feeling the anxiety of furious adrenaline flowing through his veins, Jessie spit in Dave’s face.

“You’re a criminal Dave. All of your life you’ve done nothing but scam people,” Jessie concluded as the master at arms took a firm grip on Dave.

News got out quickly of what took place at the green board meeting. It was as though the green business had held the weight of the entire town on its shoulders and in the midst of its collapse no one knew what to do next. There were no jobs left, no retirement funds, and after Dave and Jessie’s fight everyone just roamed around the city lost and poor. It happened so quickly, one minute everyone was hopeful for the future and the next they were all jobless in the unemployment lines. 

“I guess our luck has run out,” John said, standing next to his wife in the food lines.

“We just have to hope for the best honey,” Lisa replied.

“Shawna, I miss the old hip hop days, now we can’t even afford a radio,” Ray said to his wife, watching their kids counting pennies.

Shawna got closer to her husband, “I married you because you love my children, and we thank you for jumping in the lake to grab fish so we could have a meal tonight,” Shawna said to her husband as they skinned the fish with old dull knives.

As time went on, emergency sirens could be heard every night because the poor little citizens of Cooperstown were so poor that they started robbing those in the suburbs. Things got so bad that the governor had to send in the task force to get the people under control.

In the midst of the madness, Donna saw something growing in her garden.

“Chris, wake-up!” She said.

“What?” He replied.

“Where did all of these clover leaves come from?” Donna said, holding a batch of them to show her husband.

“They came from the sun, now let me sleep,” Chris replied.

Donna refused to give up on the odds of this happening. She gathered up as many as she could and started passing the leaves out to the kids in the neighborhood.

She started encouraging them and reading to them everyday in the school library.

It was as though God himself had shined through the sun to give her a sign of hope.

“We’ve failed them Chris,” Donna told her husband.

“Donna, there’s always hope in children. Everything that you’re doing will payoff in the future. Just like God planted those clover leaves, you’re planting seeds of luck in the children,” Chris explained to his wife.

This encouraged Donna and since everyone in the town was poor, they too saw Donna’s vision.

While reading the town paper, Jessie and Dave both got an idea at the same time and they rushed to the phone to call their investment friends.

It didn’t take that long before Jessie and Dave were standing on Donna’s porch.

“Funny seeing you here Dave,” Jessie said.

“Jessie, I didn’t think I would ever have the strength to forgive you for spitting in my face but poverty has humbled me. Together, friend, we’re stronger,” Dave said as Donna came out to greet them.

“We read your article and we want to help,” Jessie said.

At first Donna was a little shaken until she noticed her husband shaking Dave’s hand.

After they agreed to start their green adventure back up donations from all over the world started to pour in and Cooperstown was back in business.

What makes this story amazing is because this time it wasn’t the adults lifting the load. The investors invested in the future. They invested in the kids and as they grew older they rebuilt the town.

Was it luck 🍀 or a miracle?

What were the odds?

At the first board meeting, Dave asked Jessie to read the minutes and as a community they all joined hands to pass the torch to the future and they all read the minutes together.

By seeing potential in their children, they won.

The Green Board Meeting 

The Green Luck Peace Deal

The polar bear king was vicious. He killed and held onto his power, rich and wealthy, while his people suffered. No one would dare standup to him. The land that held the key to enter into his gates was only independent at the hands of those trying to enter his kingdom. They too he killed by the masses as they sucked everyone into their war fest only to enrich the promises of a new Soviet empire. As the polar bear king stood in his palace as his pawns moved key pieces right into his hands everyone who dared to make a deal knew the polar bear king could not be trusted. All that was evil he allowed to enter into his presence for he too had sold his soul to the devil while embracing iconic black images of holy relics. His priest and seers anointed his purpose to balance the scales, they gave him the power to unleash his fury. Standing to make a peace deal, one of his scorned soldiers burst into the room screaming to avenge his lost family while the cameras were live eager to capture a peace deal. Betraying his oath he would thrust his hidden blade into the polar bear king’s chest as diplomats would jump out of the way. Witnessing the peace treaty soaked in the polar bear king’s blood, his lifeless body ended the war. What were the odds?

The Green Luck Peace Deal

The Green Flag

Dear World,

My ship is kindly flying the green flag. The only way we will win any war is by pure luck. Not too many people acknowledge moral law anymore, and a lot of people are tipped over drunken and smoked out. We marvel at ourselves in the mirror and pleasure ourselves in the presence of prostitutes. Please note that I say, “we,” because even I am a sinner begging for God’s eternal grace. We’re low on pure spirit lord, and we say one thing and do another. We loath in ideologies that we often don’t understand ourselves and if we’re fighting for anything so help us God for we do not know what we do. I say, “not some,” but all of our thoughts have been twisted. We have to sacrifice our time and our own will at the mercy of a divine hope that is slowly eating away at our very own consciousness and our conscience mind now fights with reason and insanity. Dear world, and dear God, if the story is correct and the Devil is your brother, Lord, then as humans I guess we must figure out our place in this equation. If some of us our angels cast out of heaven then I guess you do either have standards or a purpose for sending us back to earth and I assume it’s to save the world as you did. I read the good book today, as I do every Sunday, and I must add that as I fly the green flag, it’s not that I’ve given up on myself or the world. I fly it because if luck does exist then keep helping us God, keep giving us vision, for it is you whom we must trust. You are the luck. As I see the green flag flying as I sail into battle with my Irish friends and global comrades of all nationalities and faiths, I pray that you are with us God, for if the good book is correct, we’re all in this together and with you it’s a win win situation either way. Drowning in sweat in the heat of battle, I find myself cooling off because you made me this way for a reason; therefore, I leave the woes of the world in your hands. Good Luck 🍀 

The Green Flag

The Irish Friend

She told me her battle with the enemy called cancer.

She told me that her life was filled with misfortune.

I told her to believe in a power greater than this world.

She smiled at me, got married and fought the good fight.

The cancer came back and she fought again.

I saw fear in this little delicate Irish friend’s eyes.

Realizing how precious life was she’d learned to appreciate the little things.

She took a picture in a field of sunflowers.

She was my Irish friend. 

We talked about simple things, and a life away from work.

Walking and spending time with our families.

We talked about letting go of the fast paced world and living simple lives in our native lands.

She was my Irish friend.

I hope she wins her battle with cancer as I do everyone trying to overcome and live more life.

Good luck I say to all of you and my Irish friend.

Good luck 🍀 

Anarchy

Some may ask, “Sir, what do you believe? What hidden hatred do you have in your heart? Can you let the past go? What do you fear the most?”

As a child raised in poverty, my civics teacher introduced me to democracy and the many different forms of world government. I got an “A” in his class, but something odd transpired shortly after. I got a taste of anarchy, no law, no form of government, but every man for himself. It started with a short walk from a fast foot restaurant while drinking a milkshake, and a conversation with some assumed to be old friends. I was a kind child, a peacemaker, but, sadly, I had to learn a valuable lesson at a very early age. A kid twice my size, who, I assumed was my friend nearly beat me to death because I put my guard down. While brutally getting kicked in the head, knocked out, I came back to life and jumped to my feet eager to fight. My eye was swollen shut, and the crowd around me laughed and I’d been basically back stabbed and left for dead. My civics lesson on anarchy began to unfold. Bloody, and tired with a half shut eye, I heard a group of grown men laughing and shouting at me because I kicked the milkshake that fell out of my hand after being attacked down the street. No one did anything, no one called the cops, no one asked if I were okay; while limping and upset, I heard an old friend continue the fight with the big kid around the corner as I walked home to get treatment for my head injury. This particular moment had to be one of the most humiliating experiences of my life. The madness did not end there, the kid, outrageously out of my weight class even came to my house to finish me off and I’d done nothing to conjure up this anger. His rage to end my life came from somewhere, and sadly, I didn’t even really know why, but he wanted to kill me. This was my childhood, never seeing much mercy. It was anarchy just about everyday and even though I got an “A” in civics class my environment left me for dead. I soon grew to comprehend this form of system because it showed me another form of living. The concept may seem unrealistic, but it still exists in many parts of the world. No police, no government, every man for himself, dying, while fighting for territory and rule. Everyday, crawling out of a dirty hole proving that only the strong survive in anarchy and justice is served with the fist. I learned my lesson in class, hands on, and now always up on guard, never knowing who’s plotting on my meal.

Anarchy 

Numb

The body grows cold, stiff, and the nerves simply fade.

While arguing a point, the voice raises, leaving the body physically and mentally drained. In the heat of the argument the heart slows down and one half of the body goes numb while depriving the brain of oxygen, a stroke results.

In the midst of being punched multiple times in the frontal portion of the head, first the legs go weak, then, BOOM! Lights out, complete darkness.

Sadly, in a life filled with hate and unfortunate results a poor soul hangs from a noose, at first you can feel the rope around your neck, then you begin to shake, and while trembling everything fades to black and, “yes,” the rope leaves a mark around the flesh that’s left dangling.

Tormented, tortured, burned, and whipped at the order of a brutal dictator can leave the body so deprived of pleasure that it goes numb of feelings and the flesh is left behind with no spirit, just proof that the world needs mercy.

Studying so hard only to dream of passing a test while the brain plays the repulsive repetition the night before over and over again until the thoughts go numb.

The miles that a person swims may look easy, but that’s not the case. Even a seasoned diver will tell you that there’s only so far the body can go underwater. The pressure and the amount of time underwater stroking and pushing before the lungs need to go up for air is like a hungry soul searching for food. Dizziness soon occurs, then, POP! Complete collapse under water.

The top of the mountain is high, the altitude is like hearing the ears popping mid flight. The climb is the biggest challenge. It’s like dangling in the depths of space freezing with no air and driving in circles at the speed of sound often pushing the brain slightly to the back of the skull causing a concussion. At the max speed and distance, the body goes numb.

Taking a massive hit in football is the equivalent of being hit by a car. Two bodies running at full speed, then, BAM! Two ram built men fall flat to the ground, lifeless, waiting for their soul to comeback down to earth.

Running out in the hot and cold weather for the greater good of the public and for God and country can leave the body pushed to the max. The freezing cold and the blistering heat can leave the skin numb and the flesh simmering. 

Standing fifty feet on top of a sinking ship left to dive into the freezing water in a split second while treading water in the Pacific Ocean is a thought that will bring anyone to their knees. Compassion is a fortune developed from witnessing suffering.

Jogging through the desert, singing cadence only to take a bullet to the cranium from a sniper, splitting the parietal area bursting through the brain leaving the nerves of the spine with no stimulation and the body numb.

Not too many people are willing to push the body to the max, collapsing in a filled arena while the max bet is reached. All of this just to feel the thrill of a win and all that’s left is a lifeless numb body free of trouble while the world moves on arguing about greatness. 

Dear lord, help me face my fear, even if it kills me, at least I didn’t go down without a fight.

Numb.

My Radio is my girlfriend

It talks to me when I’m lonely and I listen.

When my psychologist ask me if I ever feel like the radio is talking directly to me, I say, “Yes!”

I’m missing something without it.

My radio is my girlfriend, we don’t argue or fight, and when there is something on that I don’t like, I just turn the knob.

A customer came to do business one day.

He turned off my radio.

I gave him an odd look and said, “Fool, have you lost your mind? Do I go to your establishment and touch things that don’t belong to me? Touching my radio is like smacking my mother, don’t do it or we will be enemies!”

I then got up to turn my radio back on and proceeded with business.

I nearly lost my mind witnessing another man touch my woman without consent.

I had to put up a sign letting the next man in line know that,

“My radio is my girlfriend, she’s all that I have left, and only I can touch her.”

My radio is my girlfriend.

33 degrees of chaos

I sat in the crowd and watched.

Gena told me they wanted to be like him, the man who controlled everything.

All of them jumping off of their mountain of power.

I sat in the crowd and watched.

Horns dripping with black tar while they all danced around their pray drinking blue blood.

Johnny told me they’d been watching our every move.

I sat in the crowd and watched.

In the distance, I noticed a doctor handing out pain pills.

Green and blue haired dolls hanging on walls in rooms filled with weed smoke just to feel a breeze.

Suzan told me that the founders had sex with their slaves.

I sat in the crowd and watched.

Dangling from the ceiling, I noticed a black woman with blond hair with very good dialect reporting about the chaos.

Then I heard a drunk man screaming help me Lord.

Lisa told me to feed the machine because the casino owners don’t like it when you don’t play the games.

I sat in the crowd and watched.

Standing on top of a White House I noticed fireflies blinding pilots, they landed the plane on its side.

Sparks of nuclear fusion in executives drinks for diplomacy.

Nate told me that it’s the overload that trips the breaker.

I sat in the crowd and watched.

Cry Emit, mommy’s gone, pray David, the sky is falling. That rap beef is for you to eat.

Stretching my thoughts I saw 33 levels.

They reached in the crowd and asked us to climb.

Noticing everyone drowning in black tar around me I began to spin at a 360 degree angle noticing rockstars.

Dizzy, I pretended to be drunk and merry while everyone else kept partying in the chaos.

Limping and feeling lightheaded from spinning, my vision was not clear. 

My friend Moses felt obligated to save me.

That’s when I noticed a half naked woman dancing on a golden calf.

Tripping over someone, reaching for a higher level, I saw a white man and a black man with red hats on that read “up to MAGA Mania” and down to “LIBERAL  utopia” while washing the feet of a goat.

Dripping in chaos, I was no longer in the crowd because the action soon came down to my level.

Before I entered the madness, a poor man tried to sell me a food stamp card. Did he know something that I didn’t? Did the golf cart have a flat tire?

Realizing that I spent my last dime to get in the party, I noticed high ranking officials hiding under the White House, in the distance, while a very wealthy man put his stamp on everyone’s money just to figure out a treasury secret, I couldn’t help but notice an elephant hugging a polar bear while eating the flesh of a donkey.

All the while, he fed the electric machine on wheels as the builder’s son continued to entertain the crowd feasting off of their egos. 

Falling to the ground, I realized that I’d hit my head. I could hear pastors in the distance preaching the gospel of sheep’s and shepherds as I stood alone dressed in black.

Realizing that I could not move, I’d become a victim, knocked out, dreaming of rainbows.

After the chaos was over, I woke up in a hospital only to receive a medical bill that I couldn’t afford because I burned the tree of knowledge and was banned from the garden in an attempt to afford the healthcare.

Everyone thought I’d died in a world hanging flags upside down.

At that moment, I learned my lesson, and my dream of a stress free life was actually a chaotic trap that I fell into over and over again. And there I laid with no clothing on dripping in crude oil and it’s many substances. 

I graduated from 33 degrees of chaos and ran in 360 degree circles while my friends drank the punch and ate the food while watching the shows on their handheld devices. In the end they were all diagnosed with fatal diseases and a few of them jumped off of Mt. Rushmore. The rest watched me get crucified for following the rules. None of us escaped because of our birthright contracts so actually we all played our part in the union game created by scholars who also thought they had the answers to the test that were all funded by the same Department of Education. In the end, our lawsuit ended in the same court that created the death penalty and there wasn’t enough money left for us to bailout the president who pardoned us.

33 degrees of chaos.

The King who fell in love with peace

She was calm.

When he looked her in the eyes he immediately fell to one knee for he saw what war did to his children and his people.

“They’re traumatized, drugged, and they have few limbs left. The land that we called home is no more,” these were the words he spoke to his new bride.

With wings the span of ten fields she took his ring. 

“Great King, I want you to travel West for God has a plan. No King has ever surrendered everything he has to me, but you have given it all. Your castles, your palaces, and your life. For that, I will make you the greatest King of all. My sisters and brothers have prepared a room for you to watch your enemies and because you fell in love with peace we want you to watch them choose war to prove who is greater. In the end because you chose peace, God will give you generations of wealth and abundance with the power to build. Great King, everything we touch will be blessed.” At that moment the King kissed his bride and they became one for his enemies blew each other up and fell victim to war’s wrath. None of them survived.

Standing with his bride watching on top of Mt. Olive, the King’s flesh then grew weary, but his spirit and soul grew stronger. God healed everything and as he rose with strength he saw great knowledge and streets of gold. He saw life with no end. He saw heaven on Earth.

All because he was the King that fell in love with Peace. 

Happy Heart ❤️ Day, put down your weapons and fall in love with peace.

Be Mine

Here’s a gift,

As we eat at the table til death do us part,

Here are some flowers straight from my heart.

There will be many assisting us on this life long journey, but in the end we might find ourselves alone.

Even in our ambitions, some friends may become enemies and intimate relationships will fail over and over again…

Sadly, a lot of faces that began with us will not be around in the end.

Our actions we do regret, our life long lessons that we must mend. Our successes that teach us that if we fail at love we can still be friends.

Lessons while we’re out searching for what we feel we need, when honestly it’s right at home, but we’re tested the most when we’re freed.

On our quest for love, while standing in the mirror, walking through this journey called life, we learn that loneliness is a monster that even we too must fight.

We can conquer the world, but deep inside even that is never enough for it teaches us that the road to love is tough.

Be mine, and we can grow together in a world of trouble falling down like rain from the sky. Please take my offer, don’t be shy. We can rekindle the fire, handing out love tokens in our promise to stay together and never be alone.

When I’m down searching for love will you be the one to pick up the phone?

Be Mine

My Rhymes & I

A month of chocolates, presidents, and historical truths, here’s some love stories filled with rhymes and reasons, in hopes of some sunshine to change the season. A lyrical exercise for you and me from a past life filled with girls and grief.

My first girlfriend welcomed me into kindergarten, but technically we never were really together so I guess we were just friends. I ended up getting transferred to another school. Waiving goodbye, I wrote a nice rhyme as a ritual to ease the attraction. I had to move on and learn my divided fractions. 

My second girlfriend didn’t like me because I never truly committed, she got caught doing some nasty things with another guy in the seventh grade. When she took my soul I wrote a rhyme as a ritual to get it back. I still see her around town at times. The more time I spend with my rhymes the more the sun shines. Thumps up.

My third girlfriend was my high school sweetheart, I didn’t want her to waste her life serving a sailor who was pressed between life and death all of the time so I let her off easy, but she put up a fight, slippery and greasy. Seeing our relationship end because we both gave our life to serve and defend the constitution of the United States took me back to the pen and the pad. I wrote a rhyme as a ritual to get me through the war on terror. I also wrote a rhyme to help me let her go. It’s all good, I smiled at my first poetry show.

As for my next few girlfriends, I must say that once I became a citizen again and found myself in deep devotion to God and family, I married one of them which resulted in a divorce that was tragic. It’s very hard to serve God and bond with females that are not on equal paths, but lesson learned. Play with fire and get burned. At the end of the day I got over it, I wrote a rhyme as a ritual to lift me back up. My rhymes are my delight easy not tough. 

Fresh in the mix came presidents whom as a soldier I had to serve. I wrote rhymes to heal the pain of the towers falling. My rhymes are satisfying, food for my soul. Magnificent, like conquering foes.

During black history month, always in search of genuine love, I wrote rhymes that could bring people together. On a bad day, I desire a good rhyme or two. The words are like magic, they give me strength. Like power to the tenth that’s long generational length. Pure thoughts with no hemp.

To a day comes two and to life comes an eternal walk, and yes, I walked on water before testaments were written so in my rebirth I write rhymes to uplift the world. I’ve walked the earth in 360 cycles so I’m reborn to save. I raise human life straight from the grave. Dear friends and family in which I live on by name, I say that death is a con of the force that fears those who speak life. So every time you write a rhyme make sure you check it twice. Reaching into my word bag, I conclude, that my disciples are not drunks and thieves, they are those who rebuild and speak life like planting seeds. My rhymes are rituals not evil cunning spells and just like the God that’s in me I free souls from hell. So in the end as I rebirth I ask who am I? I am that I am so it’s just me my rhymes & I.

The Worker

 The moment Jan clocked back in that’s when she knew she was healthy again.

“Hey Jan, great to see you back,” Tiny said.

“You look good Jan,” Vikki, her boss said.

Jan sat down at her desk, she’d been placed off of sick leave and was now back at work.

While sitting at her computer she just didn’t feel it anymore. She’d literally almost died and saw her entire life flash before her eyes in a car accident. With all the attention on her she got up from her desk and walked out.

“Jan, where are you going? I need you to run some errands,”Vikki said getting no reply from Jan.

And that was it. Jan took everything she owned and just for a thrill she sold it all just to start her own business.

I guess that’s what happens when you have a near death experience. You’re just not afraid anymore. Jan worked for herself, she now steered her own ship.

The Worker

Af·ro·cen·tric

 Cast aside refers to a child almost eaten in the jungle by wild animals because he or she was left alone in the wilderness with no choice but to fight his or her way to safety. He or she must outsmart those in the wild only to realize another challenge lies ahead. Bred in pain, suffocating in filth after witnessing a next of kin hanging lifeless from a tree. A symbol of life reflected in return as a gift in exchange for God’s mercy. Shots fired while screaming, “Kill the medicine man!” The fight bleeds through the skin of the bright albinism white, dark mocha black or brown color of the skin tones. Tormented, burning in the woods while your children and wife watch leaves a scar with a craving to escape a rich land tainted in blood and decaying flesh. Beaten and enslaved, sold out by your own natives while rotting away stacked in a hollow sounding ship. Babies lost in the fabric of time, left with a choice by a scorned mother neglected, sexually afflicted, and left to raise her child on her own. Innocent lives are lost in the jungle and those who make it out alive are forever haunted, some choosing never to return, and some left with no choice but to suffer alone in the scraps of starvation. Men dressed in black jackets preaching abandoned dreams of a promised land while truth seekers kneel at a burning cross executed like sheep with no shepherd. Yes, people drive around these parts because even with intellect, the screams heard in the middle of the night will bring the animal out of anyone. The concealed beast, haunted and drowning in third world sorrows. Planted like a seed on a dirty sidewalk while spraying a tarantula with roach spray. The funk of sweat dripping on dirty clothes, the constant cry for hope in fractured voodoo dolls, and the reality of being left to fight your way out of the pit of hell while running for the light at the end of a very long dark tunnel as those left behind drown sinking to the bottom of the ocean. 

To conclude this piece, the fact that many generations later all forms of God’s most prized creation are now choosing to join hands instead of fight is a miracle. Today’s fist of all colors are in the fight for peace even if it means dying in internal sleep only to be awakened by those lost in a dark past flying like stars in dark space or dancing to music while walking on water spreading their wings like angels in heaven while screaming holy, holy, holy, in the presence of a roaring lion being groomed by black panthers on top of ancient pyramids. This one vision gives future optimistic visionaries a sense of hope.

Af·ro·cen·tric

Schizophrenia

As a child the teachers made us students believe in a dream of U.S. citizens holding hands in unity. As I grew older I learned the hidden truths of a flawed foundation of a nation still deeply divided. In my daily struggles I’ve come to understand why I’ve been so hard on myself. If something were to happen to me, I would like to let the next generation know that as a child I was not taught to hate, although sheltered, I rather enjoyed the company of different types of people. I also learned a lot about myself, so my message is clear. When you fall down, get up, when you fail, try again, and when you don’t fit in, stand tall by yourself. The delusion is simply, never let go of the dream of a United States. The illusion comes from a past filled with twist and turns, but I can still see the teachers and the doctors fighting on the battlefield so one poor soul like you can tell your story one day. I encourage you to dive into the history books this month and study the characters of the past. I conclude by informing you that once a small somewhat old man like me on the time clock is gone, what role will you play in shaping the world, and if called delusional how will you shape the future? I promise you that once you walk a thousand miles in a working person’s shoes, you too will be cured of your schizophrenia because a working person’s reality builds the American dream. In his or her vision, he or she sees clearly because his or her battle is the delusion that he or she will never have to work again. That in itself is a symptom of his or her disorder. If you convince yourself that you will never have to work, you’re cheating yourself out of the idea of a United States; therefore, you will fall for any lie because working is the cure. The workload is real no matter who you are.

Schizophrenia 

Optimistic

In all, I say, think positive.

A positive mindset sees the good in the world.

When it’s hard and things seem overwhelming it’s wise to train your mind to see the good in everything.

Lesson learned,

Be optimistic, friend.

The Black Mountain Top

Foolish, I was to climb alone. Betrayed, tempted and powerless, I saw people jumping off of the ship. There were millions of them. Aborted abandoned children, sick babies, and even scammers with gold crosses hanging from their necks. Afraid, I heard a voice say, “survive,” so I jumped off of the crowded ship into the water not knowing what was beneath me. I heard the screams of savages raping women as I felt myself floating. Treading water, I saw others being chased by men in white hoods. I felt myself drowning, but no one could save me but myself. In the distance, I noticed burning crosses and grown men hanging from trees. Why was I born? Am I cursed, only to tread water like a sinking elephant? Deprived of knowledge, I used my common sense and grabbed a piece of wood to float in the middle of the ocean. Quiet, I couldn’t help but notice the black mountain top on the island of truth where I found myself. Alone, I had to learn how to survive. The only thing on the island that I could see from down below was more land. The others had been traded and sold, but I jumped off of the ship and somehow survived. The only thing that I knew was the mother land, nothing else. Tired, I fell to sleep at the bottom of the black mountain hearing the cries of a future people never to know their true self. I lived the rest of my life on this island watching the merchant ships go by while hiding by the black mountain. Curious, one day a voice told me to climb and while climbing I finally reached the top and saw everything. I saw the trade, I saw the whips, and I saw reality.

 “Why was I spared?” I thought to myself.

Years had passed and I’d grown older, I’d adapted and got used to being alone. I’d climbed the black mountain a thousand times and observed the evolution of the trade. I’d watched a people that I once knew from the top of the mountain evolve into a different kind of being. On my last climb, there it was, a burning bush. Ignorant of its meaning, I sat by it to get warm because the island was cold at night. Cozy, it began to storm so I slept in a cave. I lived on this island and ate the fruits and drank the spring water from a rich black mountain for over seventy years. This mountain was all that I knew until one day a boat landed ashore with people who were evidently escaping the trade. Trying to speak to them, they couldn’t understand me, but I could tell by their clothes and lashes on their backs that they were victims of the trade. All my life I’d lived alone and I knew nothing  but the black mountain. I had to teach these people my language, I had to teach them how to climb, but most of all, I had to teach them how to survive. Eventually, we began to repopulate and would soon grow in numbers. At the age of ninety, standing with them by the black mountain, we too evolved and advanced with our own language and customs. We’d all learned how to survive and climb the black mountain together. They came to find freedom and I did the same. On my death bed, I observed what we had grown to become. I now knew why I survived, I now knew why I had to climb the black mountain over a thousand times. In the end, I did have a purpose. Me and the others would collect the messages in bottles floating on our shores, we’d expanded from one side of the island to the other. We’d grown so much that some of us lived on top of the black mountain. At the hour of my death, I comprehended one thing, and that was that only the strong survived. I survived the rough weather, I climbed the black mountain over a thousand times, I had to learn how to hunt for food, I had to learn how to grow food, I had to learn how to swim, and I had to teach the migrants who escaped to my island the same. As we grew and advanced in numbers, many of us became unsettled and we were so strong that we conquered a world that once traded us as slaves. Our greatest gift was our ability to survive. 

The Black Mountain Top

Chronicles of the lost and unfortunate

This piece was written in memory of poor lost souls, I wrote it so we never forget what it’s like to suffer. If it offends you, then read it again to comprehend a part of life that many of us are not accustomed to. Peace be with those who are not with us here on Earth anymore. I pray that God humbles us, and gives us all the strength to sacrifice our gifts to make the world better.

The truth is that we have no homeland. We roam through the night searching for food in dumpsters. We’ve been beaten up by thugs and we’re on the corner begging for food. 

The truth is that we have no homeland, we don’t know the rules, we’re unhealthy and toxic to those reaching for the finer things in life.

We’re criminally unstable, invidious of haunted jail cells fighting others who wear an orange outfit because we’re haunted by the visions that killed our relatives slowly. All of the customs of our identity have been reused against us for our own good and honestly, we don’t know who we are. The art that we paint on abandoned structures is never priceless until found centuries later.

We fled our native country in search for a dream but found ourselves in chains worse than we were before we fled. We’re a symbol of God’s suffering flesh on a cross by those battling with their own curse and our prayers are conflicted with human ambitions. Where is our place in history? We’re lost in a world because we don’t know. We played the lottery only to find out that our dollars still cannot buy us happiness. Sick, only to find out that we can’t afford the cure.

Yes, we’re the lost and unfortunate, we played the game and lost. We broke the law and got life. We’re dying on a cross dreaming of saving our own creation from their sins. We’re the nobodies building the pyramids, we’re slaves crucified by our own people for trying to get to freedom.

We’re on a plane trying to figure out what the people are saying while our brothers and sisters hold our hand as we prepare for another challenge. Every day we die slowly, suffering from malnutrition and we have no friends. The dirt on our clothes is a symbol that we have tried to crawl out of the filthy pits of hell. The chains that bind us together, the tears that we cry, and the left over food that we eat, are all engrained into the truths that we hold dear. 

The truth is that we have no homeland and we didn’t make the rules. We wander from place to place, enlisting in kingdoms that we don’t belong to and the knowledge that we partake of is not our own. As the world spins on without us, we die a thousand times, conquering barbed wires, using drugs sold by drug dealers to numb the pain, and sold as sex slaves while those fighting for us are hosed and beaten lifeless dreaming of heroism. This is the side of the fence where there is no greener grass, where the savior is a mystery novel that we may not have read but we must try to relate to, and any hope is beaten out of us. We die a thousand times and our stories are set on fire in the libraries conquered by dictators. Our passions are left at altars riddled with memories of nooses and other objects sprinkled in the foundations of a lost history. 

The truth is that we have no homeland and everyday that we awake we find ourselves alone in a psychological struggle, asleep and ignorant of what really drives the world. Inkling thoughts of a sinner drowning in their own guilt because they cannot save us. We’re lost, on the streets wondering why our families  are fading away from the woes of drug infested communities while we drown in rivers trying to flee to the promised land. Even as a soldier fighting for freedom, we’re haunted by memories of a littered past filled with symbols, death camps , and dreams of heaven while escaping bomb littered streets of black soot and polluted air raining acid on our parade. Demented betrayal of lovers trying to come home as children are separated in a brutal divorce. Ailing images of our favorite team losing every game and as we take our last breath, executed in the hot blistering sun, we reach for a piece of the world that we’ve never known, a place to call home.

Chronicles of the lost and unfortunate.

The Wild Elephants

 “Hey, Trisha, let’s go poke some elephants,” Kenny said.

“That would be cool, I let the donkeys run wild for sometime, now let’s go see what response we get out of the elephants,” Trisha replied.

Shortly after leaving the donkeys, Trisha and Kenny went to go poke the Elephants through their zoo fence.

“Spice, do you feel that,” Fred the elephant asked.

“Yeah, it feels like someone is poking us,” Spice replied.

“We elephants have been taking this crap for too long. Let Donald loose,” Fred said.

Trisha and Kenny noticed that the elephants were acting very strangely after being poked. They soon noticed a loud noise as though one of the elephants were blowing a trumpet. Hearing people screaming in the distance, Donald the wildest elephant had gotten loose. Trampling on a crowd as they screamed, all of the other elephants joined in.

Tossing patrons of the zoo around with their trunks Trisha and Kenny ran for cover.

“Oh God, what have we done? We’ve unleashed the wrath of the Wild Elephants,” Trisha said.

Out of the corner of her eye, Spice noticed Trisha and Kenny. 

“There are the humans that were poking us,” Spice said.

Donald went running with fury as more elephants followed.

As the Donkeys took cover, the wild Elephants attacked them also.

Once the smashing and punishment was over a calm wind began to blow.

Donald sat down and went to sleep as the people and the donkeys tended their wounds.

“They won’t be messing with us ever again,” Frank said to Fred.

“Sometimes you just have to give them what they asked for. We were not bothering anyone, they asked for that beat down. I’m going to finish my peanuts,” Fred concluded.

Things got pretty quiet after that and the elephants went on minding their own business never to be poked again.

The End.

The other personality

There I was again, looking in the mirror.

Full of myself, I’d done it again.

I made a promise that I did not keep, I lost another friend and I did not weep.

I lost another opportunity that I probably needed.

Who dare be so selfish and conceited?

So what is this side of people that I do not see?

If walls could talk what would they make of me?

If  they’re in love, is it true? I saw her alone, I guess they’re through. 

A small whisper, a second chance…

One smile and another glance.

Deeply moved, I found myself alone, once again searching for a home.

I had a bunch, that fell out of the safe, now I’m out on the street searching for a space.

A person who I never was, stereotyped with a patch over one eye, called me a name when actually I’m shy.

But, I’m a loving man, that has some other personalities too, I pray for them to scatter, but they shift then poof, I’m a different person around Sue and Bob, but once I see Deshawn I’m flashing the finger.

Singing at karaoke bars warning my friends to stay away from swingers. 

Why do people conceal their true selves? I think it’s so we can learn a lesson or two, a part of us falling and a part of us queued.

I say, be yourself, because in the end, the person you hurt the most may turnout to be your only friend.

We’re wearing a mask to hide what we truly feel, I guess that’s why to a creator we all must kneel.

We’re all human and in the end we must pay, I hope this message teaches you to appreciate the potter molding the clay.

To the no Conscience Mind

This piece is a school of thought; therefore, the person whom I fear the most is myself. I’m afraid of who I can become, and the people whom I’ve looked up to have let me down. I was not born like this, but the people have turned me into a beast. Therefore, I wrote this piece so the innocent victims will be spared. Young child, don’t destroy your future over one bad day, I wrote this piece trying to figure out why you chose to shoot.

Trapped inside of a dream the other night, it was as though someone had literally been guiding my thoughts to write something very important down. In the field of psychology there are symbols, in business there are brands. Moving on, each sign, brand, or symbol plays over and over again inside of the conscience mind. The question now is, what happens when someone snaps? A lot of us may not know what we’re consuming, but to us it’s all good. A lot of us may beg for what we want, but when we get it we have to pay a dear price. Think of this, a soldier has to be mentally and physically prepared for combat. He or she must eliminate the concept of fear and neglect pain and suffering because at times there is literally no where to run and the probability of death increases in a war zone. Racially, current actions have made scholars wonder about how people actually think. Headed into black history month, in America, one might ponder on these truths. There is something taking place in the human mind that has completely wiped away how and what some individuals actually feel. When digging deeper, we all have something cynical going on with our thoughts, these are the voices that we fight with everyday to interact with the world around us. While watching children suffer at the hands of war or watching the wealthy still not be wealthy enough and the poor still not be poor enough, one may sit down to think. What we can learn about this piece is that in the darkness of space what we cannot see in the darkness may have been hiding right in front of us the entire time. To dig deeper into the complex understanding of a mind with no conscience is to lose all fear of consequences. To be developed into a mind that has not been opened to comprehend the many levels of deeper thought at times can be dangerous because the world is filled with opportunists. While observing these levels of understanding there is terminology, feelings, and a comprehension that some people never took the time to learn. In all actuality, a mind with no conscience may see no solution to their outcome, thus, leaving them with no choice but to break the rules.

My friend, this kind of thinking is dangerous because at the top of the ladder those below may be considered pawns and, sadly, they too are on the edge. To conclude this brief evaluation of thought we must comprehend why people choose violence rather than a peaceful solution. To see a man rise for his people while the world kneels is a critical theme that we all must comprehend because in all reality a hero is tested the most when he has everything to lose and a life to save. The reality that we gain is that a mind with no conscience kills the voice telling him or her not to do it. They zone out the better side of the world and their motive is just like that of the artist, to paint a picture of the world through their eyes and they take hold of the ending with no reason or second thoughts. 

The no Conscience Mind makes or changes the rules with their actions. The scariest part of this story happens at the climax when someone turns thoughts into actions. A mind with no conscience may be programmed to break the rules, knowingly and unknowingly, because he or she, just like the artist, must prove a point. To conclude, I devoted my time to write this piece to be anyone’s voice.

Please, don’t ruin your life, there’s a better world, and we’re all a part of it, we all have the power to make the world and the people around us better. Please, put down the gun.

To the no Conscience Mind.

I had a dream called Los Angeles

I was born in the ghettos of America, but that’s not what this piece is about because if you look up Los Angeles it will say it’s a safe diverse place, and where I live, I learned a lot and actually survived so let us join hands and read.

In my younger adult years I had a nightmare that a city was burning and the people were fleeing to safety. I quickly got up to tell my mother.

She looked at me and said, “Brian, maybe God is trying to tell you something. Give it time.”

I’ve never been to L.A., but as a child, I admit that I did play for the little Raiders and me and my street cousins as a family would rock to Tupac, D—th Row, and NWA was pretty big at the time and we were all victims of street violence praying for a dream to rise out of the harsh ghetto, but I say again, that is not what this piece is about. After the dream I saw a man at a popular grocery store, I never met him before, but he looked me in the eyes and said “Never go to L.A.,” young and dumb, his words echoed in my mind. 

“Why would he say that?” I thought. 

I’m assuming that he must have known something that I didn’t. Now an adult, I can’t escape my passion for a part of America where as a child would seem close to home. I can’t escape the reality of a people searching for peace in their lives, peace in their communities, and peace in their homes. Little children with dreams of flying like angels. So I say go, learn and help as much as you can. They say the world is burning, but I say the world is teaching us something about ourselves, I do know that if my dream was showing me Los Angeles, then God must have a plan. I believe his plan is to bring us together. I say this because there are prayers in many parts of the world that need to be answered. Brethren, there is beauty in the hearts of places that we all have never been but dream of, and that beauty is in the people finding away to make something out of nothing. I’ve never been to Los Angeles, but I’ve heard about it and their street warriors, just like the warriors on the East Coast have little humble hearted children searching for a dream to believe in. In the words of the dreamers and lyrical genius that have passed on, “To live and ——-in L.A. it’s the place to be.
And the angels go 

You’ve got to be there to know it where everybody wanna see or be.
To live and—- in L.A.” If I got the words wrong, forgive me, I’m sure you get the picture. In closing, I pray that the city of Angels and the state of California rise from the ashes like a phoenix while the angels of God spread their wings around California and bring hope with a spirit of holy vibes in the city founded by Felipe in 1781. I hope that like every tragedy on earth that it brings us closer to God and most of all brings us all together. I think that’s what the dream meant. A town burning to bring people together while seeking the knowledge to rebuild. Peace. Written by a dreamer spreading hope for a better tomorrow and a better world. Always in memory of those fighting for a better tomorrow, tipped over with a pen and a pad searching for a way to the promised land.

I had a dream called Los Angeles.

Work Harder not Smarter

Climb the mountain til you fall.

Run until you pass out.

Shovel the snow with your bare hands.

Swim until you collapse underwater.

Do everything yourself and bite the hand that tries to feed you.

Toss and turn on the bare floor.

Walk up a 90 degree angle.

Read the encyclopedia from cover to cover.

Pick cotton in the scorching heat.

Keep spiting on a forest fire until it goes out.

Lay shingles with a bare hammer.

Chew raw steak.

Chop down trees with a dull blade.

Grab your mate and pump until you run out of sperm.

Scream in the face of slackers and make them drink your sweat.

Push the body to the max and I promise you that when your soul leaves your flesh and your blood stops flowing that you won’t feel a thing.

Work Harder not Smarter

A Man’s Curse

Ambitious dreams of owning the world only to find no one to help you tend the fields and fight the animals.

Breaking a woman’s heart in search of your deepest desires only to find out that you still love her in the end.

Killing another man over a commodity only to look in the eyes of his tormented children while receiving the death penalty. Some people lack forgiveness and mercy is not their concern.

Spending your entire life working for your children only to be disrespected for leaving their mother.

Paying child support only to find out that the mother has been training the children to hate you.

Conquering the world only to realize that once everything is conquered there’s nothing left.

Writing a million books only to realize that in the end nothing matters, but the precious things you told the children. If you wrote about killing, they will kill.

Taking every moment for granted only to find out that karma is a curse that you put upon yourself.

Saying things that you don’t mean only to find out that what you mean has no value.

Fascinated with prostitutes because you failed so many times at love and deep inside you’re broken and you’re second man cannot be controlled. You fight with him only to realize that even if you had love he’s a beast that torments every man in a world filled with many different kinds of women, he can also get you killed if let loose in another man’s cave with ill intent.

Being the smartest person alive only to find frustration in a problem that you didn’t solve.

Being alone because you’re misunderstood.

There are so many things to mention, but the biggest curse of all is to lose your life without repentance or a second chance in a world that hates you.

Living a lie only to face the truth in the end, a truth that you have to fight on your own.

Fighting, killing, deceiving, and destroying the world’s righteous only to face God when you die. 

No man lives on earth forever, sadly, or gladly, we all have to face the maker.

I wrote 1 million books.

When I first used a tool to write, I scribbled something on a piece of paper. At that moment, I became hooked on the idea of putting my thoughts on display. I literally came out of my mother’s womb with the passion to write. While sticking a fork in a socket, I wrote the instructions warning other kids not to do it. It hurts. Realizing that I had a mind that never stopped thinking, I got bullied in English class for wearing a fancy orchestra shirt. Catching on to my talent the English teacher put me in honors English classes but my somewhat dreams of writing a high school masterpiece got slashed when I got transferred to another school. Heavy into church, I wrote about everything, I even painted pictures of the fancy temples that I spent my entire childhood visiting. In Sunday school, every teacher wanted me in their class because I seemed to have the gift to stir up some great conversations about theology. I found out that I was different when I got in my first relationship because I would always end up tormented by the fact that girls were very hard to understand. In my downtime, I wrote about it. I wrote about everything. When I was happy, I wrote. When I was sad, I wrote. Broken hearted, with nothing to eat, and even in disarray, I, for some odd reason just couldn’t stop writing. I think I scared a girl off that I had a crush on in high school because I was just so creative. I just had a thing for fashion trends, dancing, and using my artistic talents. I literally invented my prom outfit. Sadly, the paint didn’t dry in time on my cain, but I made it work. Her mother was an English teacher; she loved me, but I think her daughter hated me. I was willing to do anything to have her mother teach me good grammar, but in my quest, I’m sure I was made fun of. It was amazing how I always found myself in odd situations as a child growing into an adult. Somehow, I ended up publishing my first manuscript fresh out of high school. I considered myself a writer willing to write about everything, but since I was raised in the church, I wrote about Christianity. I gave up on the idea of being published by a major publisher because they were too busy trying to make money so I spent all of my money shelf-publishing manuscripts. While everyone else spent their money on the things that they so much desired, there I was publishing my thoughts. My grandmother loved my preaching, I had the gift, but I don’t think a lot of people understood how a child prodigy could tell grown men what to do at the time. Sadly, I shied away from that dream once I started reading more. After a terrible injury in the military, sadly, my mind went blank, but I somehow got better by reading the Bible. My advice to anyone gifted as a child is that when you face off against a psychologist, it’s best to not be creative. Just be quiet. I’m smiling at the thought because the moment they pulled out those black and white blot boards that’s the moment the medication came out because I saw everything differently. It was weird because my entire youth life was spent creating things and writing, but when the gift disappeared it was like some angelic force just wanted to see what a strange little human like me would do. Trapped inside of my body for 2-5 years with no creativity was torture. I begged God for my gifts back. I did everything, I prayed, went to classes, and I even would go into hospital chapels and fight with God to give me my gift back. I’m sure whatever force was on the other side got a kick out of me screaming and conjuring up the holy ghost in a small chapel room by himself while sick people were roaming around the hospital in need of a miracle. I think I fought so hard one day that lightning struck outside. They had to call the nuns and priest, people were literally falling to their knees hoping for God’s presence in their life while I screamed inside of a little small chapel room head banging to gospel hits. An entire cloud surrounded the hospital, ironically, I got my gift back, but, sadly, the hospital shutdown soon after. Each night I would fall to sleep on the floor by the computer at home waiting for a thought to write down, then one night, my gift to write just came back. Just like that, I was back at it, writing one million books. I even opened up my own publishing and production business.

I would say, “The End,” but I’m still writing. My message to anyone reading this is that even if you don’t believe in anything, I’m living proof that God keeps his promises. I’m still writing. ✍️ 

I wrote 1 million books. I’m swimming in a digital lake with paper and ink everywhere.