Relatable Feeling

Lately all people is telling me is I’m relatable and in my head all I instantly think is who is more fucked up me or you? Because my insecurities hit me with fist of fury like the final episodes of Dragon Ball Z. And I’m just super sayin’ I hope on some days you never feel like me. Walk to the corner store and see drug deals like me. 8th grade friend committed suicide because he couldn’t deal like me. But know it was really gang signs that sealed the deal like me. Let’s go outside and look to the skies. I’m going to tell whoever listening that when I was at my lowest point I hope your heart never chilled like mine. Deep breathes when you feel you are getting buried alive. Give me a piece of your soul, put your mind in rewind. Then tell me 3 songs you listened to when you wanted to die.

See to get eyes like mine you have to grow up to see your mom get beat. And your sister tell you run and hide so you don’t get seeked. But these ain’t childhood games and you don’t want to move like Rosa Parks seat. Mama shot a man they tried to tell her that the charge would be attempted murder. I hope my future kids never have days where they felt like me. Don’t go through what I went through. I only survived because of bad role models and my mothers tough mental. She had dreams deferred because life was not gentle. Strongest woman I know. Everything was dismantled. So I had to change because that’s what plans do.  Trying to keep a firm grip on what I can handle. Listening to Jay-Z playing loud in the background holding my seat real tight. My friends dad is counting up a hundred thousand in dirty cash. Some lost boy in the hood is going to die tonight. He saying do your homework as he loads a gun. I head out, I have to be home by streetlights.

 

This is complexity.
Stereotypes of a black man that’s misunderstood and it’s still all good. This is the synergy of another human still trying to figure it out. At night I cuddle my doubts.
I could be in million dollar suit and still be the Usual Suspect.  I am well aware of what I can change. I’m looking at the stars just trying to make dots connect. Keeping my door unlocked in case opportunity knocks and I feel that I’m up next. And everybody says practice patience but sometimes I still get upset. Because I swore I could fly but gravity is on my chest.
So do you feel me yet?
Breaking and entering just so you won’t be homeless go to the neighbor’s house in the dead of night just to steal water. Heat it on the stove, that’s a hot shower. The last food in the house your mom and sister send you to school with. You talking to your boy he hasn’t seen his parents in a week so you give to his mouth what was yours to eat. Guess you starving again but now I’m hungry for more. I hope I didn’t wait too long. I hope for you the wait wasn’t too long.
Poor ghetto kids that was rich in love.
These are the tears of doves.
You won’t feel me until you on the west coast talking to the former Eastside like a connect. Reminiscing about what happened under streetlights about all the nights you were young without curfews.. but then you tell them about Coachella and Burning Man and all of sudden they no longer believe you. Think about how warped everything must be when the idea of the good life to your childhood dawgs is far fetched. I never hustled like this ,I’m learning new tricks. Next time you can relate I’ll tell you where I saw my first dead body. Addicts shooting up crack like a recreational hobby and you thinking about all this while you pulling out the credit card to pay for the hotel room in the Doubletree lobby. You say the world is cold and the clerk behind the front desk just talking about how he feel you.
Anybody ever wrote you and the first line was “Today I was going to commit suicide, but I happened to find your blog and decided I don’t want to die.”? Asked me if I wanted to see the note where he thanked his wife and kids. How do I reply to that? My biggest problem that day was wondering if this girl I like was going to write back. She probably didn’t. Right now I can’t remember. Those is thoughts from December.  Don’t make me wait too long because I won’t stay too long. This what happens when you deal with things by letting the world in. Master of disguise once my left hand gets a pen. Now I got a stranger at every bar thinking they are my best friend. 6 shots of tequila deep with two cups in my hands. Dude comes up ask if I write the blog and I say yeah. Now this man is in my ear telling me how my words make me so damn relatable. How one day I’m going to be big. This is his First Take and I think all this shit is debatable. But I know he’s never shared one thing I wrote. But I also know he feels somewhat connected to me as he reads that shit when he is alone. He’s slurring his words but hitting me with every quote like in his head these are the words to songs. He’s interrupting this conversation I was having with another girl who was in the middle of telling me something else I wrote about this other woman being abused let her know she would be alright I can tell she wants to go into details. I can tell she is really trying not to fall apart in this room full of people she got dressed up just to try and impress. Hold it together. Am I suppose to hold us all together? Her make up is so pretty I don’t want it to fall down her cheek. I hope I can be what she needs. I’m still trying to figure out what to do when “Thank you, I really appreciate that” isn’t enough. Because I’ve become an expert on being left alone. Nobody else wants to be in crowded rooms really telling people who they are. Everyone is striving for perfect. There’s so many illusions. I rather sit around admitting all my flaws. I rather tell you about all the times that I fucked up thinking I wouldn’t be enough. What’s more human than that? 
I’m writer that doesn’t read enough. I talk about the view but I still haven’t seen enough. I’m a son that doesn’t call my mom enough. Can’t lie to myself I got a fear of when my future wife ask how I got these scars. I hope we have the kind of love where we can just listen to Tame Impala under the stars. I’m holding on by a thread, I need a woman who knows how to knit. I’ll give those I consider family the clothes off my back and bones from my ribs. Sometimes I think I may still die young but maybe I can create something that lives forever by putting these words in print.
You still feel me?
What are you feeling?
All these talented friends and I’m just looking for a few that have the work ethic. They want it when it’s here and I’m trying to take it now. Who wants it more? Everyone dreams of rooftops but no one realizes you have to start from the floor.  Ten toes down in the mud, ready to get it from the ground. All these strangers feel me. All these foreign countries telling they can relate. Let’s make things good at home. I’m tired of standing when the chance is there to make the world our throne.
Don’t say you feel me unless maybe you Damont with them 3 A.M. thoughts. But this shit is getting too deep and getting long, I don’t even know if he made this far. And I be on the edge of a nervous breakdown when my mom send me a text saying “Look how far we come” we had to walk the whole way they wouldn’t allow us to run. The more I try to be this light the more I fear the Sun. We no longer come in peace, we just coming for our piece. So if you stand in the way you should be scared of the son. I use to stare out windows and think why my father wasn’t there for his son.
Growing up my life was more Shameless than the Brady Bunch. So now I’m slinging these words around without any regrets like I’m Tom Brady’s son. Read those last two lines again if you want to understand how word play is done. These are just a few memories from the days of baggy pants and long tees. Sisters dad stole everything from the Christmas tree. Years later we were at a car dealership after hours and had a water fight in the house. I remember everything.
This is complexity.
This is normal for me…
To be honest I don’t even know what normal is suppose to be.
You understand me, or do I understand you?
When you started out with nothing everything is a win. As long as you breathe you can’t lose. And they say even death comes with peace. But this will either all fade or last. I just hope I’m not faded too long. I just hope you’re not jaded for long. 
You read this.
Am I still relatable?
Crazy thing is I really hope there’s somebody out there that does feel me…
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