Most weekends I’d go hang out
with my brother Donte and play
video games on the PlayStation 2,
our hands clutching the controllers
uncontrollably.

And as we sat in front of the big
screen TV playing Grand Theft Auto:
San Andreas, there was a gleaming
glow in our serene faces.

We could feel the exhilarating
excitement soaring through
our veins, bursting hearts alive
in the moment, breathing in every
winning second.

When we grew tired of playing
the game, we’d take a walk down
the city streets and giggle about
the most random subjects.

And when night finally came,
we’d take several snapshots
together, my brother holding
the camera in his hands,
pressing the shutter button
of a lasting memory that
would always stay stamped
on our chests.

I donte wante to rush nothing
I donte wante man to rush to slip his slippery tounge in Ma mouth.
I wante man to rush wit ring on ma finger first
And be a dedicated boye
A husban.
Not a man who donte takee kare of his chika

Donte check a gurl out
For her ***** and chest. Check a gurlie out
For her heart dat is best.

Nuit, des amours ministre et sergente fidèle
Des arrêts de Venus, et des saintes lois d'elle,
Qui secrète accompagne
L'impatient ami de l'heure accoutumée,
Ô l'aimée des Dieux, mais plus encore aimée
Des étoiles compagnes,

Nature de tes dons adore l'excellence,
Tu caches les plaisirs dessous muet silence
Que l'amour jouissante
Donne, quand ton obscur étroitement assemble
Les amants embrassés, et qu'ils tombent ensemble
Sous l'ardeur languissante.

Lorsque l'amie main court par la cuisse, et ores
Par les tétins, auxquels ne se compare encore
Nul ivoire qu'on voie,
Et la langue en errant sur la joue, et la face,
Plus d'odeurs, et de fleurs, là naissantes, amasse
Que I'Orient n'envoie.

C'est toi qui les soucis, et les gênes mordantes,
Et tout le soin enclos en nos âmes ardentes
Par ton présent arraches.
C'est toi qui rends la vie aux vergers qui languissent,
Aux jardins la rosée, et aux cieux qui noircissent
Les idoles attaches.

Mais, si te plaît déesse une fin à ma peine,
Et donte sous mes bras celle qui est tant pleine  
De menaces cruelles.  
Afin que de ses yeux (yeux qui captifs me tiennent)  
Les trop ardents flambeaux plus brûler ne me viennent  
Le fond de mes mouelles.

When I was sixteen, I remember
when I was at my brother, Donte's,
house, watching Blue Streak on the
flat screen TV, pounding momentum
shifting in between scenes, as we
stared at, Martin, dancing in thrilling
exhilaration, thin hands holding a
brilliant blue ruby in the sunlight
sparkle.  There was an extreme joy
written all over our faces, serene
moments and heavy conversations
on a bright summer day.  

My brother would always tell me
to stay focused and never give
up on my dreams.  "Don't get
sloppy.  Don't let your talent go
to waste.”  And as I listened to
the breath of each word, how
its strong diction sunk inside
my soul, bursting bright lights
flashing gloriously, I knew I
must never give up on
my dreams.  I had a purpose
in life and incredible talent.

Now as I look back on those
days, I'm very thankful for
the many inspirational words,
how they shaped my creation
within a complicated world,
how when I was constantly
bullied and threatened,
those same words came
rushing back into my existence,
a lasting memory that I must
keep moving forward and
never look back.