In silence, I carried a sin
passed down to me—
a curse unbroken,
paid for in full
just to be loved
by someone
who never truly belonged to anyone.

It’s eating me alive,
like a parasite
draining the last light from my bones.
It clings,
slowly killing me
for a mistake
I never made.

I feel like a lost lamb,
wandering the abyss,
blindfolded
by the sharp remorse
that was never mine to carry.

For a moment,
I exist in a world
that never noticed I was here—
like a forget-me-not,
wilted by the road,
meant to symbolize
a love that died
before it was remembered.

And all this guilt...
the pain...
the suffering...

I shall bear it—
until it carves blood from my soul,
and follows me
into the grave’s dark cradle.

I say, Ashe,
I mean, what else to say
As they **** my brothers and sisters
Feeling like my days are numbered
Just another young Black man
Knowing that things can go left
Easier than they are right
I read and watch
Tragedies, hardship, and inequalities that never seem to change
So, I flip the page and turn the channel
Sadly!
As I unwilling become desensitized
After every shot,
Every choke, every hit, every knock
Hoping that they won’t steal my grandson like they stole Emmett
****
So, I close my eyes in defeat
Trying not to picture the demise of the Black body
Dreaming that change will be swiftly

As I see this police brutality, it has become a reality
As many people are getting hit with these bullets of casualties
And the reality of this reality
And these bullets of casualties
Are
That it's really sad to me
To be
Push to the left
Of this pain of death
Like Trayvon Martin
As I saw a Black boy
With happiness and joy
As he went to the store
Not to get stereotyped
As dangerous and poor
And to be treated like a bore
An animal of sorts
And to be made into a deadly corpus
His body
That lay in the morgue
And his parents
That cried O'Lord
And their tears
That's filled with the death of their son
And the injustice of justice that goes undone
These tears
They weigh a ton
Like the bullet of a gun
That killed Trayvon Martin and Mike Brown
But the ones that shoot these guns
Are never convicted
But they’re the ones who get assisted and enlisted
And the Black boy—
He's the one who gets unlisted and convicted
When he's convicted
He's thrown and twisted
Into just another statistic
So, as I pray
Hoping this police brutality
Will goes away
One Day
As shells of the bullets
Hits me where I lay

What the ******* looking at
I’m that loudmouth
Cotton-picking
***** ***** you heard about
I’m that slick-talking, big-walking *******
****, I am a *******,
*******
I’m a watermelon-eating, cornbread-munching, fried-chicken-smacking *****
I’m a black **** that will do anything for the white skin, for those white men, that little bitty white plan
That western thinking, that only got us sinking.....
Into generational oppression
Contemplating deep thoughts of depression
Like clockwork
Over and over again
Wait
Over and over again
Is my clock broken?
NO!
Over and over again
In this sin, we call life
Playing the game with a disadvantage
A Catastrophic injury
Not having all the tools to conquer
This constant relapse of cycles
Hating myself so much that hate you
Hating myself so much that I beat you
Hating myself so much that I **** you!
As I say,
Yes sir,
No sir
Yes *****
No *****
But hates his own kind  
A *****, who doesn’t sit by the door
But on them corners!
Right on that corner on 79th
Or maybe 78th, or 63rd maybe 65th,
Name a street, I’ll sip the 5th
As I plead the 5th, for crimes I did not commit
Feeling so bashful and so cloaked with indifference, that I cop a 5th
1st, 2nd, 3rd—5th
As I amend my thoughts
I understand!
Just another body to this cause
Again
I don’t think you understand my pain
So again
I’m that ***** not by the door but in them fields, crushed in between a jail cell and genocide
With homicide in my conscience  
Ready to blast nine shots by two Glocks in a ***** that looks at me crazy!
From being a crack baby
To selling to crack babies
From whips to chains
To whips to chains
Not knowing why I hate
But deep down inside, I am full of love
Unfortunately, I will never show love
Because I was never shown love
and in the deepest form of honesty, I don’t know how to love.
So, with not knowing the stereotypes continue
And forms a mind of its own
Hate!

I wish I was a Black boy that flew
Then all of my dreams would come true
Because people really don’t understand what I go through

If I could get away
I would
But I always seem to stick out

Sticking out like a sore thumb
Unwanted

I try to yell for help
However, no one understands my language
Foreign to all

I try to grab a hold, but my hand slips
And goes straight through
Appearing faded like a ghost

I try to climb up
But I repeatedly get pulled back down
Stripping me of my progress

So, I run away
Lungs gasping for air
I try to run as fast as I can

Knowing in my mind
That humanity is on the other side

Life or Death
Freedom or *******
Pain or Chains

So, I run
Bursting closer and closer
Sprinting to the finish line

But I trip
They catch me
Cutting my Achilles
As I Heal

I realize
That success is inevitable
As I swallow this unbearable pill
And wipe away invisible tears from my treacle eyes

Knowing that life isn’t 100 proof
Life has contradiction

Contradictions of
Impossible
Difficult
Hard
No Way
I Can’t
Fear
Failure

I laugh
Uncontrollably
To keep away the thought of crying
Because the pain cuts deep

Intensely
On the other side of the bank
The narrow trees
Through shallow waters
My hand extends
There's Our Journey
Our Path
Our Blueprint  
Our Success

Unleashing my spirit
Freeing this caged bird
I Fly!

I Fly high in the sky
Soaring to new lengths
Breaking Cycles
Discovering Life  

Writing my own story
Making history

As I glide through the canvas
I illustrate

I am the Black Boy that flew!

They say I’m mad at the world
Go figure right
The biggest stereotype there is
An Angry Black Man
But maybe this is true
Maybe I am
Maybe I’m mad at the world
For how I’m treated
Inequalities I deal with every day
Or how I get looked down upon like I’m a crumb on the dirtiest of grounds
Like I’m a peasant: a beastly creature
A killer that was never pushed
Just one more **** they won’t have to arrest soon
Because they believe in executions!
Death by firing squad!
So maybe I am angry
Furious
Shouldn’t I have the right to express myself?
Express my opinions on this jaded society!
But then again, they say it's not a societal norm  
So I rebuttal,
**** normality
They say shut up and dribble!
They say you’re canceled
They say you can’t feel this way
But why can’t I feel this way?
How Sway?
I mean isn’t this a “FREE COUNTRY”?
Don’t I have “First Amendment rights”?
Doesn’t the “Constitution apply to me”?
Can I be free?
They say I’m going to end up either dead or in jail
But why can’t I be a lawyer?
And maybe go to Yale
As I yell and get on my knees
Crying out in pain and agony
Saying please
Lord help me
Protect me
Lord, give me wisdom
So, I can have a strong mind
To get through these hard times
Exhausted and Traumatized
I pause
And close my eyes

There’s no reason I should feel like this.

That’s the worst part.
My life isn’t falling apart.
It’s fine.
It’s good.
My girlfriend tells me she loves me and I believe her.
My friends invite me out and I say yes.
Sometimes, I even laugh.
And then, in the middle of the night or a Wednesday afternoon,
my body decides it’s time to collapse in on itself.

No warning.
Just a quiet shutting down,
like the lights in a store
right before closing.

I’ll be walking through a parking lot
and suddenly my chest forgets how to keep rhythm.
My heart races like it's being chased
but there’s nothing behind me—
just a car, a tree, a sky that doesn’t care.

Try explaining that to someone.
Try saying,
“No, I’m not sad.
I’m just... not here at the moment.”
Or,
“Yes, I love you.
I just also kind of want to disappear right now.”

Some nights, I lie in bed like it’s a battlefield.
It’s 1:03 a.m.
The ceiling fan spins like it’s counting down to something.
I try to breathe like the apps taught me.
In through the nose.
Hold.
Out through the mouth.
Hold.
But panic doesn’t care about wellness trends.
It grabs my ribs like a thief looking for something valuable
and finds only noise.

The worst part is the stillness after.
When my body finally unclenches
and I’m left staring into the blank of 1:58 a.m.
fully aware I’ll be useless tomorrow.
But more afraid of the idea
that this is just... how it is.

I’m not suicidal.
Not in the way people imagine.
I don’t want to die.
I just want to stop existing
for like a day.
Maybe three.
Just enough to sleep without dreaming,
to pause the timeline,
to not have to explain why I haven’t texted back
or why I skipped another thing I should’ve shown up for.

Motivation?
It’s not that I don’t want to do things.
It’s that I can’t.
Not metaphorically—literally.
Some days I sit at the edge of my bed
for an hour
trying to convince my legs
that standing isn’t a threat.
Trying to convince my brain
that brushing my teeth isn’t Everest.

People say,
“You just have to push through.”
As if I haven’t been pushing
every single ******* day
against a door that swings shut
every time I blink.

And yet—
Here I am.
Breathing.
Shaking.
Still here.

Not heroic.
Not inspirational.
Just... here.
And maybe that’s not a triumph,
but it’s what I must cling on to
as my only saving grace.