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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.
Okay today is the day. Yea, I can feel it. I love the feedback. It makes me feel good. Let me conjure something intricate. Yes yes! Let me write something down that sounds so profound it will make you scream out loud. I want to be heard, so I write. A self-conscious human being, so I type and just hope my words will touch you in the right spot. I want to produce something marvelous. I want to produce something that will have me marveled at. Therefore I struggle to come up with words, basing self-worth on what I can get you to concur with. I don’t want any arguments. Just agree. Trust me.You’re investing in my self-confidence.
I’ve produced and produce. The feedback is amazing. I re-read my work for cliché’s. There is none. Oh yes, in a few minutes they’ll be praising my work. And it’s okay. There is adequate room for my head to swell. Because as of late, I’ve been malnourished with thoughts of inferiority and going to hell. Singing hymns like “It Is Well”, yet knowing not a damn things well. So I guess I’m a liar, but my pants only seem to be on fire when I see her. Or her. Oh Lord cleanse my mind as the tights get sheerer and the urge gets stronger.
But let us return to the topic at hand. My words must create an incredible picture. And if my words were to make me great, then I would gladly accept this fate of mine. After all, everyone needs a social standing. Right? Everyone needs to create a grand reputation for himself. Sike! …I only wish I could say that with sincerity. I’m praying to the Lord not really questioning if He hears me, but I just want someone to be near me. And it just scares me that the only time I’m feeling “loved” is when a female’s near me…
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... 