disclaimer: some pieces are just expression of thought. fiction in some ways.

DOPE

my mother told me when i was twelve she wanted not a nigger for a son. to be the sun was like asking martin luther king to hate himself more than he love the wealth… and to answer when shorties holler where the ballers at… drug dealer buy jordan, crack head buy… weapons of mass destruction. and i was the new blood as master colonel’s functions…
looking for a way to stand out, not my skin
look for a corner they wouldn’t notice me in. stuck with this jazz tune playing in my head when i slept. one day i woke up and realized i didn’t dream in english and it made me wonder… where did i really come from. who is my father… not the man my mother named me after. and this girl i kept running into, shared a bed and my last sandwich with before she left me for some cat that was a “movie producer” and now she’s ass up – all over the internet – and ll cats seem to remember is when she was mine and i said forever… shit cause dope back then
it was like i took shortie to the corner young. watched old men play chess and cards.
hated our condition but i loved her hard. love, like before i even knew what love was… i knew what love was… just didn’t give it name… if i had to now the one they gave it and the one i would – would actually not be the same. i’d call it dope. but now since i feel out of that feeling things are gray and i’m waiting for this use-to-be-light to turn to just dim… and then i can at least say when speaking of her… that we have good. cause dope is done and they say you only fall in dope once… twice if you’re lucky… and love was what they called the drum that sounded good with hi-hats and were made to have strings worn with your feet… and after all of this has passed and i forget the things i said about you… i want to close my eyes… knowing that i lived and at one time actually felt…. doped.
-know.