XLV Mystic Mysteries

“Expressionistic words, go straight to souls from me.

Ain’t no mystic mystery, just the history I see.

My message people fear,

For Far to real to hear

The cries of unmasked eyes I see,

It’s the truth I know that people flee.

I’m dangerous-ly

Accusing, of a bruising unto me.

So they catch my hide

As I try to ride on a crooked C.O.P.

Lock me up.

Beat me down.

Throw away the key.

This N*gga ain’t never been free.

Born from the womb

To certain doom

I should have been born in a tomb

I have no room, to breathe.”

That’s another excerpt from a poem I wrote when I was 18. I think I have the notebook somewhere where the rest of the words are written. If not I’ll find them in the recesses of my mind, it’s been a long time since I even visited that piece. That piece got me some acting offers right out of the gates, it’s been a long winding road to this point in time. I’m developing this piece about my Grandfather, exploring his life, what I can piece together, seeing how it connects with mine. I’m getting to know him through writing his story, our story. I need to call my Grandmother, she’s the last of my grandparents left. I need to get all the stories I can while they’re still here. I want to tell their stories, so that we can learn the lessons from what they went through so that we can avoid repeating the mistakes today.