Sinners Have Soul Too. Move Yourself And Save.

About a month ago, i penned a new joint that i was compelled to write because of some recent feelings of dismay and delusion. I had false visions that my life thus far had been in vain because for every forward step there seemed to be a backpedaling going on in my mental.

Yet, it was more like a surreal sense of hopelessness that overpowered my senses when I visited a local high school and ended up taking an errant turn on a small side street. It was a street that literally only amounted to one block. But there were three memorials on it. My face dropped. And it was obvious in the millisecond that it took between me noticing those memorials and making eye contact with those folks who were out on the block that this was not Mayberry.

So I wrote that poem with a fervor in my heart hoping to share it with those willing to listen. But then I decided to append to it an unscripted monologue. It had to be the most nerve-racking performances I have ever done. I almost broke into tears on that microphone. Fear consumed my body and it wasn't because of where I was, but because i knew exactly where I was in life and had an inkling of my next steps but couldn't come to grips with the the blank horizon that colors the daydreams of my people.

I say people generically, but also specifically, for certain folks whom I either come into contact with or know personally. Fast forward to October, and as I head back to work after eating lunch at home, I walk by hordes of students being dismissed from school for the day. The next morning, more tears knock on the heels of my eyelids as I learn about the shooting of an 8th grade-student from that very school the previous night.

Not too long ago, I found a picture of a shooting victim covered with a white sheet and shell casing markers all around and uploaded it. I noted how the phenomenon of these evil streets had clouded my mind since pre-puberty. Too many bad things witnessed by the eyes either cause blindness or bring forth new light. The parked U-Haul truck in the background won the award for understatement of the year. What lurks beneath the surface is often the source of solemn solace. Last night it was over a hundred purple balloons being released into the dark sky as a symbolic gesture of hope and celebration of life as opposed to mourning of a death. But tonight, the right words escaped me as I breathed in short hesitation after the call came in. A mere two weeks ago, I returned home to the steady skies that molded me into the man I am today. I made sure to visit the physical places and spaces that held more meaning than others. yet it is always the unknown that underscores your afterthoughts and leaves you second-guessing when the bad news chirps you.

I got asked recently what my life's goals were and my answer was equally detailed and ambiguous. I had a clear plan and path, and yet it was littered with what ifs, maybes, and possibilities. There is no love or peace in the hearts of men. Simply a spirituality that has to be cultivated and sculpted into a figure of respectability. As I planted a kiss on the midget's forehead tonight, I thought of a well-thought out essay that I could write to focus my mind and could only muster this brain-dump of meandering rambles and strung-together sentences about my life and thoughts. I hope when I do die that I can rest in peace because as happy as I am right now and content with my life there is so much pain that i cannot help but share in that pain as a way to divert my mind from the immediate stresses that hover and try to seek solace by humming that scene from a Color Purple when Shug marched to church and hugged her father. Gos had been done told me something.