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I could have perused dentistry, but I perused PT. Leave that for Chanice. “Myself” is trying to convince “me” that’s still to much focus for me. Dissonanced being. Capped mentally. She. Was. Mean…but I won’t return that energy. I have to retire my mom before 60….not before pre-retirement at 63. Mind stop playing me. My. Heart. Is. Too. Sweet. I struggle not to let you penetrate the exoskeleton and get to the mushy gushy. You can’t have emotionality and physicality on me, so I choose celibacy. I wish I could credit it to my morality. Read. Read. I’m going to figure out this being. God save me. God raise me. I get ridiculed for transparency cause I share these blogs on FB feed. Then the masses can judge me, and I’m embarrassed but, “I cannot delete.” Then I take down because of family. Deconstructed socially. No addition to popularity. I volunteered this information to help somebody…somebody who is feeling the same as me…someone who is set up perfectly but is still battling with their mentally. I’m struggling to connect with those around me…and the ones I do connect with I make sure I keep them at good distance…about arms length away from me. CSPT. I just don’t trust they can feel as deeply. Rationality please fall on me. I cry at the thought of loosing mommy because mommy has always shown a genuine care for me. Now I’m isolated. It’s tough embracing the thoughts of a fragmented being.
Bakari! Bakari! You’re name means promising, so please fulfill what you have promised me. How did Julian die though? Was it from an accident? Was it in his sleep? “God please don’t tell me it was because of his mentally! You know that could have should have been me!” We only spoke a couple times, but from his gaze I knew we shared similar mentality. I saw them say R.I.P Tamar, but moments later the world seemed to be back up on its feet…operating flawlessly. Then I told myself if I die I want them to praise me. It’d give my haggard ego relief. Drum major instinct. Am I still here because I been favored genetically? Not perfect but having had the privilege of being approached because of beauty. What if I never had that opportunity? What if my family wasn’t so respected in the community? What if it was me instead of him who was exposed to herpes? What if I didn’t have religion to instill the fear in me? Would I still be? Questions. Questions. Those are some real questions for me….
Keep pushing Bakari…
I will probably be a martyr. Then I ask God for forgiveness for offending His sons and daughters. I’ll also ask Him, “Why do I have to be a martyr.” Then I stare down at my skin and notice it’s a bit darker and realize that’s a problem. They will probably try to tear me down because I am an imperfect being. They’ll probably turn 1 speeding ticket into something imposturous so they can formally push their lawsuits. Once my character is in question they’ll let propaganda do what it has to. I know this to be true because I have already attacked by my own people. Fortunately, that anonymous girl didn’t convince her that I would control her diet. People have been trying to sabotage me. Unfortunately, there were probably some of you that did believe. I thought I was low-key because you’ve never seen me blow trees, and before college started I was retired from college parties. But she will always have something to say about me. However, I am no anomaly. Just take a look at Bill Cosby. What happened to the phrase “innocent until proven guilty”? I know a feminist from my HBCU that protests against him publicly. Lord please don’t let a black man slaughter me. I know we have a fighters mindset, but please calm all self-hostility. I used to think this was an existential crisis, but this is reality. Thankfully I can reveal myself to you before you reveal myself to me. Say what you may, but I will let my blog speak for me. Sometimes my impatience is hard to control when it’s mixed with my intensity. Sometimes my virginity is hard to maintain when she keeps messaging, and at times my resort for pain has left scars on my body that made people question me. But if God is for me who can be against me…. It even says my enemies will be at peace with me. Now I’ll close my eyes because that’s the peace I need. This man has got it and really gives it? I promise I’m just speaking my life into reality.
Consequently,
Your Founder/Chief Executive Officer
He is no militant man, but based on his stance you might have to question that. He is a diligent man, and he will do what he says. He will work harder for himself than he will work for you. Therefore he is ruler over his own destiny. His motivation isn’t based on your pennies worth of incentives, but he just moves off the sense of self that he has been blessed with. He will share that blessing. His physical and his mental being are in alignment with what the Word says, so if he should reap what he has sown he should reap a basket of woes. He shouldn’t reap a wife because he’d been “Sowing Hoes”. However, he believes in the phrase “I Forgive You.” And Dad “I Love You” but, please stop suggesting potential wives. Under divine rule he has obtained control of his mind, so when “Your Painted Black Thighs” peruse his eyes he maintains a calm state of mind. His words will be chosen carefully, and his negative thoughts will be replaced by thoughts of the quality of life he plans to have. He maintains control over his yearning to frequently return to “The Batcave” because he realizes he won’t be accepting melodies from the lyre just the Liar that says his life is not worth it and that he’s worthless. He was once told he was ugly. Then he grew a little and was told he was pretty. He realized shifting his basis of self worth to rely on external beauty is “Hogwash” because he began to tell himself “I’d Die Young” so he would die pretty. Beauty fades with age. Beauty grey’s with age. He will just thank the Lord he learned to embrace pain. He’ll thank the Lord he didn’t have to get “Stoned” mid December in order to escape pain. Because it did hurt in November when she didn’t text back, and it was a slight setback. However, pain isn’t fatal, so there is no need to be “Cradled” every time “Those Slum Days” come around. And no “Down Girl! Down!”, but please stand up girl. Stand and assume the proper stance beside a man and not down on your hands and knees. If you are reading this, this a more effective way he has developed to communicate his feelings without being an “Extremist or Extremely Passionate”. He no longer has the “Harsh Dependency” of needing a cute girl on his side because he has a beautiful wife. He is no longer a “Masochist” to himself. For he realized if he continued his actions he would leave his mother saying “I Have A Funeral To Attend”. He revere’s the words of men such as Martin Luther King Jr, and someday his words from “Luthor” will touch someone in the same manner. Essentially, he realized that his state of mind was directly proportional to “The Greater Scheme” of his life. Therefore, he maintains his faith as his path is “Heaven Bound”.
Consequently,
Your Founder/Chief Executive Officer
There is no need to be judgmental. And although her influence is instrumental, we all have sins of our own. She just sings hers a little louder. We’re just seeking someone to look up to. And she was looking to be influenced so one day she could be influential. But I’ve learned we should be careful of our desire to admire people who we think we’d like to be. I don’t know you yet, but if you run across this here are my words of admonition. Set up some kind of moral basis for yourself. Don’t get too disheartened if you stray from the standard you set up in your youth and innocence. It happens to the best of us. Stay nostalgic however. Always yearn to return to the standard you once set for yourself. Understand that time changes things. Time ages things. Time may taint your innocence, and you may become two-faced with your sins. Some days rationality and morality will discern your reason; other days you may be emotionally reasoned. You’ll feel like a hypocrite, and you will get tired of it all. However, you will just have to learn from your mistakes. People will always judge you, and you will always have preconceptions of people. Never act as one who is infallible. Never try to convince people of your character, but rather let your actions paint a caricature of you. Again, be careful who you choose to look up to. If you’re not about what many guys will come at you for, then be careful around females who are. For he neglected bowflex and chose to exercise his index between her legs. She allowed it. Then the index became a little denser. Now she’s an addict. My mother always told me that her mother always told her , “Show me your friends, and I’ll show you who you are.” So show me someone striving for perfection only in utter hopes of achieving some kind of excellence. I hope I told you and showed you I love you, so when another man tells you this it won’t temporarily fill a void in your heart. And “Unto third and fourth generation” of me may cause you and your seed to do somethings that will make God displeased. So please forgive me. I’m just writing to you from future aspirations of me…your father to be. And I would like to say again that I love you. I’ll start practicing from now because pain has caused me to use this phrase lightly. And “Mama/Daddy I love you. My blog speaks for me, but hope I made you proud.” I hope she makes you proud. For if I reap what I have sowed life will owe me a basket of woes. Therefore, I want you know that I love you in the way I treat all the other daughters around me…. So say a prayer for me. Please. The devil will soon be coming for me. I think I have relayed to you what I needed to. I understand my voice grows faint with my age, but my words still carry relevance. I hope God allows me to recieve you from my Womb to Be. Until then, stay safe while I strive to show my love for you. So please forgive me Keke, Corey, Ms. Rose, Ms. Peña, Kay, and young Des. Thanks.
To my precious little lady,
Your Father
I feel like I’m 21 and divorced; God I need some. I’m feeling loyal to a girl that I haven’t won. And ultimately my faith lies in You or in this world, but either way I don’t foresee “fun”. I can sing, “It Is Well” then burn in hell screaming, “Why am I the one You have forsaken?” Or since they call me Munk, become monk, and restrain my cum until the day I’m done. Damn. At least I’ll see the ones who’ve gone on before me, but as of late I’ve just been feeling so earthly. It’s fear that’s been instilled in me. I fear God so much sometimes I forget that He’s supposed to love me. Freshman year I was condemned to hell because of my jewelry, yet she didn’t even take the time to hear my story. Flipped the script and traded in slit wrists for a pierced lip. Pain for pain. Traded in hospital bed grips for a tatted chin. Win for win. Sometimes the pain that hides within might seep out on your skin. Dang.
However, I won’t justify anything. But little brother and little sister are out here with their javelins. I speak my thoughts, and they’re ready to throw it at my sins. And I used to be the same way with my older brother until I fell in my pit. I may not drink, smoke, or party, but I’m still struggling. Doing things that my younger self would never do. Thinking thoughts my baby mind couldn’t construe. And lately deaths been in the waters; it’s been stirring up the seas. It’s messing with my ship; it’s trying to drown me. I don’t want another shift in the dynamics of my family. She’s been sick for soo long, but I’m just thinking of me. I won’t front and act as if I ever really knew her, so please save the condolences because my cold shoulders’ becoming frost bitten and it’s only turning bluer. And I know my right to pursue happiness, but life never opted to be kind to the pursuer.
Yesterday, I traded in some sick shit for some righteousness. Instead of taking a weekend trip for a quick fix I’ll be “working” on my sins. So does that make me pious?! Nah. And gramps is choosing death over the suffering. Damn. Their matrimonies’ been a couple decades in the making. Man…
Lately I’ve been thinking that I’m good, cause my palms always been closed to the drugs. I look around and figure that I’m straight; two decades passed still haven’t opted to smash. I’ll be flying out the state to my birthplace, with my family thinking I’m about my work. Public image probably looking kinda sharp, as long as they don’t catch me in my room. They say the world is coming to an end, so I’m eclectic in my ways to pass the time. I use religion as a comfort for my mind, because I’d die before getting jail raped for my soul. But then the Bible told me turn the other cheek, but how when there’s so much pride to hold. Nah nah, as long as it’s something I can control, I’d like it for my ass to remain closed.
Heaven bound but I barely even pray. And when I pray I’m probably about to eat.
Heaven bound but I barely even sleep. I guess I’m waiting for the Lord to judge my soul.
This is the confessions of a child, who never really cared about the wealth. Instead he prayed to talk to all these girls, probably thinking it would help his mental health. And his mama always confiscating phones, cause it’s 6 am and he’s still on the phone. Then she asks him why he’s gotta be extreme, then doctor doctor says he’s messing up his health. He was looking for the truth inside a lie, from the misconceptions he created about himself. Then heartbreak came and hit him with the truth. No one can replace the love you have for you.
Heaven bound and I’m trying to see the light. I’m trying to separate my feelings from the truth.
Heaven bound and I’m trekking through this life. I’m trying to find the love I once had for You.
I can remember when I was a child. Everything took on the characteristic of happiness. All of my days seemed bright, and the only stress that would occasionally plague my soul was the anticipation of a spanking. Tears were rare, but I was often troubled by the slightest divergence from the moral standard I had set for myself. Conditioned to think that if I was bad I would go to hell, I would try my best to be good and do good. My moral character was constantly being exercised. I would create a superset for myself. Abstain from a lie: push-up. Maintain my integrity while taking a test: pull-up. Obey when my parents or my grandmother told me to do something: sit-up. My moral character grew, and I was becoming perfect…. I was becoming saved. The preachers words would resonate in my head. Be good. Do good. And forget the cliché’s. Maybe that’s how some of my peers felt as they sat and listened to children story after children story. After all, we were closing in on the age in which the call for us to walk down the isle and sit center stage was no longer applicable. We were supposed to be growing up, but I was still touched. This was supposed to be cool, but I was in no rush. I knew I would be young forever. I never liked hearing the old folks talk about youth. Youth was only delegated to certain people. I was born young. They were born old.
When I was young, I was good. When I was young, I did good. I did not take for granted the words that I heard in church. Often perplexed by the sinful little humans that surrounded me, I would ask myself why these kids did not want to be saved. I was a kid, and I wanted to be saved, so I was good. I did good. Everything was so easy. Puberty was unheard of, and my hormones were in good spirits. I just liked to be outside. I just liked to run around and burn off all the energy which caused a great deal of inattentiveness in my class of life. You see, I was oblivious that time was passing and that I was getting older. I was unaware that I would soon have an affinity for computer screens and obscene things. But I would always spill the beans to mother because of my conscience. It was because I was holy and into all that pious nonsense. It’s such a shameful thing, but I would soon become a teen.
I remained oblivious that time was moving and that I was getting older. I guess I never deemed it possible. I would often hear older people talk about life and the stress it can bring. What the hell are they talking about? They must be doing something wrong. Tighten up. I continued to make judgments as life continued to make subtle moves on me.
High school…
“We are praying for you and your family.” What is happening? What went wrong? No one told me what hospice was. In fact, I was relieved to see her in our worship room when I came home from school. The plethora of hospital visits were beginning to get to me. Plus after weeks of silence the doctor finally said there were signs of improvement. I was young however. I didn’t know life was making moves. That room would soon be void of life and the equipment that was only meant to ease humans to their grave. I would soon see tears from my mothers eyes for the first time. Things were changing. I was aging. I was born to be young however. I was born to be young.
College…
By this time, I should have been well aware that life was moving on me. I knew I was getting older, but I was born to be young. I knew that she could have an immense effect on me, but I continued to be touched. So I touched. But I was supposed to be perfect. It’s just something would always convince me that it would be worth it as I’d unearth hips and kiss lips. I had long strayed from the moral standard I set for myself when I was a child. I realized was growing old. I realize I am growing old. I always believed that I would die slowly, but life is moving fast. My mind often fishes around in the past hoping to renew it as the present….
Times is moving, and things are constantly changing. I always thought that I was born to be young. Then l grew up.
If I can inspire, would that fulfill my heart’s desire? As I’m sitting on my throne accepting melodies from the lyre, I’m much higher. “What?” I’m higher than I have ever been since I’ve stopped meddling with that sin. “Ohh. Okay, carry on.” Once it started to bloom, I was consumed. And I spent thousands of hours planted in the my room. I couldn’t move, but I just blamed it on the lady with the broom. She was on some shrooms, got a little confused, and then came through and cast a spell on a dude! “Wow. Man quit playing! That’s insane! So when’s the next time you trying to get some brain though?” Stop. Please don’t try and tempt me. You know if I go back down that road you know I will be left broken and feeling empty. And don’t resent me for side stepping your offer…my enemy. Just leave me be and let me continue my story of how this sinful indulgence almost destroyed me. “Okay. But always remember that you can look although you may not touch. God has already declared your victory, so there’s no rush.”
My hands and my eyes were in conjunction. I was in so deep I was unable to function. I couldn’t go to luncheon without thinking who and who was eyeing me. But nah I think I’ll just blame that on my social anxiety. And hell yea that’s propriety cause I can’t have all that guilt piled up inside me. Plus I could be free. I could be free from all the stresses of trying to pursue that girl in who’s face I’d probably hurl after she denied me. But at least I tried b. I could always run to The Batcave to hide me as I blindly searched for something to remind me of the sexual ventures I had with her. Or her. Or maybe her because her breasts were a bit larger, and she’d probably go a bit farther. “Yes! Yes! You’ve done your three months time, so you’re more than fine! Plus, what’s a college guy without a chick on his side?” Nah, I think I’ll be alright for the moment seeing that, that shouldn’t be an essential component of my coolness.
My mind was deprive of real life. My perception was surreal in fact. I looked down her back and thought those implants was her real ahh…yea. “Don’t doubt what I have shown you. For the last six years I have owned you and grown you into the lustful man you are today…well the one you were three months ago anyway. Don’t turn your back on me now!” I will not take a bow nor allow my defenses to be let down. I won’t stand here proud and act as if all my battles have been won. I’m just grateful for how far I’ve…well for how far we’ve come.
“God has declared your healing even before you were yet healed. He has already declared you victory over every habitual sin even before you experienced the victory.” –Earlene Dotson
When I read this passage I had two immediate emotional responses. At first, I was elated because I have recently experienced victory over an addiction I have been struggling with for years. I was unsure how I was ever going to get over this addiction, and I just figured that my victory would come in my latter years of life when my compulsions eventually faded or when I got married. My second emotional response to this passage was skepticism. It sounded good at first because I recently had an experience in which this passage was proven to be true; however, I couldn’t help but think about all of the other people who were still struggling with an addiction or those individuals who have died from their addiction. Did God neglect or forget to provide victory for these people?
I believe He has done neither of the two, but that’s easy for me to say seeing that I have recently experienced the victory enunciated in the passage above. So where is the help for those drowning in their addiction? Where is their saving grace? What about those who have already died due to an over-indulgence in their addiction? Why didn’t God stretch out His helping hand to them?
I am not God, but I can use what God has done for me as proof that he provides a way out. I had struggled with this addiction for years, and I did not see how I was going to get over it while I was still youthful. I would pray and pray for God to aid me in overcoming my addiction, but it just seemed as if He had turned His ear against me. So I stopped praying. Nothing changed. Finally, over this past summer and last semester I was faced with the most emotional and physical pain I have probably ever had to endure. While I was being tortured by these two forms of pain, I did not see why I was presented with this trial I had no control over. Like most people, I imagined God would reach down and gently take away my desire to continue indulging in this sin I had struggled with for so many years. After all I was/am His child, so He was obligated to be delicate with me. Right? As Christians, we are many times shown the loving and merciful side of God. We are conditioned to believe that all of the mediums God’s uses to save us will be pleasant to our bodies and our souls. When we are faced with a situation that literally shakes the foundations of life that we presently stand on we fold. A lot of the times we crumble under the pressure. Through cognitive distortions such as emotional reasoning, we run to harmful outlets seeking comfort and relief from our problems. We refuse to attribute any process that will seriously challenge us physically, mentally, or emotionally to God. We have become soft and fluffy, expecting our belief in God to disqualify us from pain.
I have found that pain can refine a person however. Pain is what instigated me to form rituals for my days prior to my victory: Wake up. Proceed to my car. Cry for an hour. Put my clothes on and pick out the facade I was going to wear for the day. Go to class. Come home and then cry for about another two to three hours. Attempt to study. Go to bed. Repeat. Pain is what coerced me to take part in harmful outlets in order to gain peace of mind. Pain has left it’s permanent signature all over my body. Pain has taken me to some of the most undesirable places. Pain almost caused me to stop…. This pain has also lead to receive victory over a sin that I have lost thousands of hours of my life to. This pain has set me free from the slavery of striving to satisfy other’s views and opinions of me. This pain has prodded me to share my experience with you, hoping that some of the words I say will potentially have an impact on your life. This pain has helped me to finally find something that I have been searching for my entire life…myself.
God used a very painful experience to set me free. Learn to embrace the trails you are faced with. They could be the tool God is using to refine you into the person you were always meant to be.
Blessings.
My life, like many of yours, is composed of many intricacies unknown to others. I have been told that since I was born I’ve had to fight for life. I won’t reproduce to you a cliché story about my near death experience upon exiting the womb, but I will say that my impaired birth did lead me to have mild complications throughout my childhood. These complications would later cause me to sketch a skewed image of myself.
I was the fastest kid in my class for the majority of my elementary career. When I was in third grade, I was chosen to race against two of the other fastest kids in my elementary school. They were both older than me, so I was pretty nervous to race against them. The day finally came for us to race, and I placed last as I expected. I lost the race from close behind however. This probably would have been a great opportunity for me to feed my emaciated ego…if my classmates had not witnessed the raced. After seeing me run that day, my classmates would soon coerce me to play a game called cops and robbers in P.E class. It was simply tag with an embellished title. They were the cops. I was the robber.
“1. 2. 3. GO!” I began to sprint. Those with the duty of enforcing the law upon me were left in the dust. That only lasted for a couple of seconds however. I should have known better, but I wasn’t going to seem weak.”You are under arrest!” In a moment, I was being man handled by the majority of the girls and guys in my class. “Put your hands behind your back!” Crap. They got me. Silence. “Don’t try anything funny.” Almost there. Almost there. A couple minutes had passed, and they were getting too comfortable having me as their prisoner…. “He’s getting away!” I was gone, and they were anger. They would soon be pacified as they saw my sprint become a light jog then a feeble walk. “Don’t worry about it. We got him!” They handled me with even more force than before. Or maybe it was just the feeling of my body going into a sharp decline. “I bet you won’t try to run again!” Their grip on me was much tighter than first time, and I knew they wanted me to fuel the little adrenaline rushes I was giving them. “Don’t try anything stupid!” I silently gasp for air. “Haha, you won’t escape this time!” The wheezing became heavy. My symptoms were drowned out by their taunting. Enough. “N…N..Nooo. No your…your not going anywhere. S…STOP HIM!” My self-esteem would not be lowered as they surrounded me and instigated me to break free. The air I tried to breathe then stopped registering to my lungs. “Gotcha! I bet you won’t…are…ummm are you okay Bakari?’ Blackness. Stars. Pockets empty. No inhaler. “Give him space! Bakari! Bakari, breathe in and out into this paper bag. Your mother is coming with your inhaler. ” My first attack. They stood in awe. I felt weak. Never again.
8th grade…“Okay, so your choices are Gatlinburg (Tennessee), Disney World, or St. Louis.” Bloody class trip. I knew swimming would be involved. I had formed a fancy for delicacies such as bread with humus or chips and salsa. They could no longer say I would blow away in the wind if a storm passed through. In fact, they said the opposite. “Wow, boy your putting on a little weight there.” “You used to be so skinny! What happened?” A nice little dynamite for my ego. There was not much to demolish though. I was only about fifteen pounds overweight, but in my head I became obese. I was already self-conscious, but now I had become a faithful slave to their opinion. “Don’t think about the burn, think about what you’re going to earn. Come on, push yourself!” My chest remained tight. My lungs continued to burn. I kept exercising.
Days…weeks…months…A quarter mile became a half a mile. A half a mile became a mile. A mile became two miles. The scale began to register lower numbers. The comments began to lessen. I worked hard. I worked really hard. A daily two mile run became part of my religion. I ran for the relative that commented on my weight gain. I ran for the older cousin who was shocked to see me chubby after not seeing me for a few years. I ran for my haggard ego in hopes to feed it with the weight I lost.
Class trip was approaching…School. Homework. Treadmill. School. Homework. Treadmill. School. Homework. Treadmill. Dang. You weren’t supposed to eat after six. Okay, run an extra two miles. School. Homework. Treadmill. School. Homework. Treadmill. School. Homework. Treadmill. Oh shoot. You really pigged out tonight. But it’s Friday night. You know your mom won’t let you exercise. Proceed to the guest bathroom in the basement. Open the toilet lid. Fingers ready? Okay, stick em’ in and shove em’ down. Gag reflex. Try again. Chokes. Try harder. That’s good, but you know you really messed up tonight. You need to bring up some more. Just stick them down fast. Don’t think about it. AWYKXGTHKR!!! Okay cool. Now clean up this mess before your mom sees this. A few days pass. I messed up again. Repeat.
I cherish these memories, and I have recently made some more. These days, however, the question just rings in my head, “Extremist or extremely passionate? Extremist or extremely passionate?”
A time comes when one must free himself from the views and opinions of others in order to live. Act accordingly.
Just Some Thoughts... 